


The Outsiders: Book II - "Fortuna's Champion"

by bornforwar_archivist, tangofiction



Category: Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-31
Updated: 2006-12-31
Packaged: 2020-03-14 16:21:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 95,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18951706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bornforwar_archivist/pseuds/bornforwar_archivist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangofiction/pseuds/tangofiction
Summary: By Tango





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Delenn, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Born For War](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Born_For_War), which closed in 2015. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in March 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Born For War collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bornforwar).
> 
> Disclaimer: All familiar characters are the property of MCA/Universal. There are some lines from actual episodes here. Please don't sue me, no money made, no harm done. 
> 
> Rating: R. Contains adult themes, sexual references, occasional coarse language and some violence. 
> 
> Special thanks to LadyKate for the helpful comments on my many drafts, and for helping me to keep writing when writing was very tough. I couldn't have done it without you! Thanks to Carly, for her steadfast belief that this story would one day be completed. Thanks also to Juxian and Dixie for their invaluable comments on the early version of this story, particularly about Ares' character. 
> 
> Notes: This is the second book of my two-book series, "The Outsiders", but it is a complete story in its own right. It's my take on Season 5, which aims to preserve all of the important developments in that season, but reshuffles them into a new story. After two years (no kidding!), the story is finally nearing completion. I had intended to wait and post it in its entirety, but unfortunately real life keeps getting in the way. I will post it a few chapters at a time. A transparent hint - feedback will encourage me to finish it faster! 
> 
> Feedback: Please let me know what you think of this story! Send comments to:
> 
> Dedication: In memory of Kevin Smith, now forever 38. In our hearts, he laughs always.

Awakening

  
  


_Little darling, I feel that ice is finally melting,  
  
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear.  
  
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, and I say,  
  
It's all right._   
  
The Beatles, "Here Comes The Sun"

  
  
In the blinding expanse of snow, where winds howl among the jagged peaks of Mount Aetna, seasons do not change. Like snowdrifts, they eddy and twist, with little to distinguish between spring and autumn, summer and winter. The aloof splendour of the mountain is timeless, separate and removed from the oblivious humans scurrying about their lives below. They plough their fields, scream in childbirth or war, dance at harvest festivals – then die, to be replaced by others just like them, to scurry and die in their turn. The slopes of Mount Aetna are not so different then to the timeless splendour of Olympus, with its marble-gold halls and endless feasts, and the two humans entombed within its frozen heart are no less eternal than the pantheon of gods.   
  
It had not always been that way.   
  
Ares, God of War, stood at the foot of a sheer cliff, looking over the scarred landscape that opened up around him. Impassive, his dark eyes swept the scene, from the soaring peaks – a dazzling, eye-watering whiteness edged with blue – to the pock-marks of caverns and the weathered remains of rockslides below. He was not mortal; the thin air did not make him dizzy, and the frost could not touch his skin around the customary black of his armour. A long exhaled breath clouded the air. How he hated this place! Hated it, fought it, and kept coming back.   
  
Ares turned slowly, his boots crunching on fresh, untouched snow. There was nothing to see. The cliff-face towering over him was a vertical wall of ice. His own power had long ago sealed the entrance to the cave; there was no one, no mortal and no god, who could disturb it, or would be fool enough to try. At least in death, Xena could be as eternal as he, hidden away from time and from curious eyes. The ice casket he had carved for her would hold her forever. Ares felt absurdly jealous of it – of the dark cold that could touch Xena's skin, her black hair, her slender long fingers. Once she had been warm and alive, full of fire, beautiful in her fury. He never could understand her when she wasted that fire in self-sacrifice, burning herself up when she could have taken cities and empires instead – but then Xena had always done things her way.   
  
They had made a child, once. A daughter. Mortal like her mother. She was gone, too, taken by fire rather than ice, burnt to ash on some deserted beach in Thrace. It did not matter how mortals died – only that they did. Sometimes Ares wondered if Xena or their child had existed at all, or whether it mattered if they had.   
  
He bent down and scooped up a handful of icy snow. It sparkled in the sunlight with a shifting rainbow of colours. Funny; he'd never noticed how different each of the flakes was, when seen so close. His breath melted the crystals, turning them into identical droplets of water. He threw the rest aside and brushed his hand on the side of his vest. He'd had enough of eternity, for now. He turned and walked back into the world of mortals.   
  
A small whorl of snow formed in the dip where the God of War had touched it. The disturbance was tiny, hardly even noticed by the ancient mountain. A tiny fissure ran down from it, then stopped when it reached the rock. Below it, where the cave walls had been cut to form two caskets, the ice gave a soft clink. Another fissure had awakened. It threaded its way upwards invisibly, slowly zigzagging higher with every shift of the mountain, with each wind-dislodged stone that skittered down the cliff to the plateau below. At last, it reached the ceiling. Trapped there, it began to expand into the rock itself, blossoming with more hairline cracks, like a sombre colourless spring that was nevertheless as real and unstoppable as the spring that came to the world below. The filigree of fractures embraced the icy rock; it collapsed inwards in a glittering shower of stone, mirroring the glittering showers that watered the plains far below.   
  
Like them, it heralded life.   
  
The rocks tumbled onto the two caskets on the cave floor. No single stone was large enough to shatter the lids, but many were quite sharp enough to send fissured blooms across the sheets of ice, making them opalescent and fragile.   
  
Spring had come to the mountains. Inside the caskets, just as in the tilled earth below, life quickened, stirred, and broke free.   
  


* * *

  
  
Cold – she was far too cold, every breath seemed laced with ice and her body felt stiff and unresponsive. Xena tried to open her eyes, but that single movement seemed to require an inordinate amount of energy. She persevered, an effort of will, rewarded not by the opening of her eyes, but by a shuddering spasm of numb muscles that twisted her body in a rapid convulsion. Her fist connected with the smooth surface of something above her. Xena cried out with surprise; her arm continued upwards, smashing whatever it was into useless shards, punching into the void above until her elbow locked with a jolt.   
  
It was then that her eyes finally obeyed her command and opened, then closed immediately: for the briefest of moments, it seemed she had looked directly into the sun.   
  
Where was she? And why was it so cold?   
  
The next time Xena opened her eyes, it was with considerably more care, shielding them first with her hand and turning her head sideways as far as she could. She sat up too quickly, dizzy from fear and the sudden movement, more fragments falling around her – ice. Ice everywhere – blue-white, lit into blinding brilliance by the sunlight streaming in from above, forming what had once been a box of some sort around her. Xena kicked its remnants to the floor and tried to blink away the tears that blurred her vision. Her teeth were chattering uncontrollably, but the rest of her body protested every movement.   
  
She was sitting on some sort of platform, in a cave. An icy cave, with smooth walls and a ceiling fringed with rainbow-glittering icicles. Which was patently ridiculous, because she should have been on a beach, waiting for Ming Tien to appear ... And he had. Xena followed that thought, prodding stubbornly at disjointed memories that refused to make sense. Ming Tien had appeared; she'd feigned death to lure him close enough to destroy him with Lao Ma's power. Using the power was supposed to exhaust her, and perhaps play tricks on her memory, too – but it was certainly not supposed to deposit her in a cave full of ice!   
  
A part of her wanted to believe it a dream. Her stiff cold body assured her otherwise. Xena set her jaw to stop her teeth chattering, making her entire body shiver instead, and slowly turned around. Then she stopped. What she saw made her forget all about the beach and Ming Tien: a scant few paces away, on a platform like the one on which she sat, stood a coffin. It was made entirely of ice, its lid littered with rocks and debris. A dark shape was visible inside its translucent walls. With a sickening lurch, Xena realised what the 'box' around her had been – and what the second one implied.   
  
"Gabrielle!"   
  
Ignoring her screaming muscles, Xena stumbled towards the ice coffin and fell to her knees, sweeping the fragments of rock aside with hands made clumsy by cold. The lid crumbled as though it had been waiting for her touch; its frozen shards flowed through her fingers to the floor, cutting her hands. There she was!   
  
Gabrielle lay inside the casket, her eyes closed, her face purplish with cold, her lips almost black. She wasn't breathing.   
  
"Gabrielle!" Xena's hands, numb and awkward, reached inside to grip her friend's shoulders, shaking her. "Gabrielle, wake up!" She was not dead, she wouldn't believe it... She hit the casket, "Wake up, dammit!"   
  
Gabrielle's eyelids fluttered, her lips parted slightly ... then she yawned. She was alive!   
  
Xena tore at the ice around Gabrielle's limp body, lifting her up into a sitting position, trying to support her head. Gabrielle's short blonde hair felt damp, Xena brushed it back. "Breathe," she thumped her back lightly, "Breathe, damn it! Talk to me!"   
  
Gabrielle drew in a ragged breath. Her eyes opened and closed, and then she squinted into the light. "Xena?"   
  
Xena's shoulders sagged in relief. "Yeah."   
  
Gabrielle raised a shaking hand to her head, missed, tried again, rubbing her forehead and the bridge of her nose. "I'm awake..."   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Why is it so cold?" Then she opened her eyes fully and looked around, puzzled. "We're in a cave."   
  
Xena gave her a tense smile. "Looks like it."   
  
"What are we doing in a cave?" Gabrielle looked down at herself, then over at Xena's hands, criss-crossed with a dozen small cuts. "What happened?"   
  
Xena shook her head slowly. "I don't know." She closed her eyes briefly, remembering. "It worked ... Ming Tien's gone."   
  
"Ming Tien?" Gabrielle fought to stay calm. Ming Tien was dead...   
  
"And," Xena glanced aside uncertainly, then looked sadly at Gabrielle, "so is Lao Hsu. She's dead, Gabrielle. The power we used against Ming Tien destroyed her."   
  
Dead. The word rang against the cavern walls. Gabrielle listened for the echoes to soften into silence. Lao Hsu, the young empress of Ch'in. She had not meant to bring back Ming Tien's ghost, but he'd been too strong for her. Gabrielle remembered feigning death on the beach to trick Ming Tien's ghost into getting close enough for Xena to destroy him. But ...   
  
"Lao Hsu wasn't supposed to be there!"   
  
Xena's voice softened. "She followed him. I think she wanted to protect us."   
  
"Gods..." Gabrielle shook her head slowly.   
  
Xena's eyes grew suddenly wide, as though she had been jolted awake. "Eve! My baby!"   
  
Gabrielle broke off. "She's not here?"   
  
Xena jumped to her feet, looking around wildly. "She's gone! She – they took her!" She was shaking all over, her hands grasping wildly at her shoulders where the straps of Eve's baby carriage used to be. "Eve's gone!"   
  
Gabrielle rose with difficulty and gripped Xena's arms, then her cold face, trying to still her shaking. "Xena. Xena, look at me!" When Xena's frantic eyes found hers, Gabrielle spoke as clearly as she could, trying to ignore the dull horror in her own heart. "Who took her?"   
  
"Romans! Soldiers – I heard them leave, back on the beach; one called Marcus, I didn't hear the other's name... They said something about a commander named Octavius." Xena's voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, shaking along with her body. "I tried to break the spell, but I couldn't do it, Gabrielle. I couldn't stop them. I couldn't save her!"   
  
Gabrielle stroked Xena's arms, trying to soothe her – "You will. It's okay, we'll find her, the Romans couldn't have gone far ... Xena, please ..."   
  
Xena stilled abruptly, her whole body stiffening. Puzzled, Gabrielle followed her gaze to one side of the cave, and saw what Xena was looking at. Her weapons. Her sword had been driven vertically into the floor, the single emerald atop its hilt catching the light to shine a vivid green. On the sword-hilt was balanced the circular blade of the chakram. A tablet of blue ice carved with some sort of inscription was propped up against the sword.   
  
"What is that?" Gabrielle asked, eyeing the arrangement nervously. It resembled an altar.   
  
Wordlessly, Xena went over to her weapons and picked up the tablet. She glanced at the writing briefly, as though she already knew what it would say, then turned it towards Gabrielle. The engraved angular script shone a brilliant white in the cold light. Gabrielle felt her breath catch.   
  
"Xena," she read out in a whisper. "Eve. Gabrielle."   
  
A tombstone. Their tombstone; hers, and Xena's, and little Eve's. Gabrielle stared at the writing, but could not take it in. So many times she had come close to death, had seen its shadow in every fight, had once returned from the very brink of eternity... Never, in all that time, did she imagine seeing her own name on a grave. It made her feel intangible, ghostlike, as though she could simply cease to exist.   
  
"Eve."   
  
Xena's hollow voice dispelled the strangeness, but not the cold that kept pressing on Gabrielle's chest, making it hard to breathe. She found she could do nothing but watch as Xena kicked the altar apart with savage precision, replacing the chakram at her hip and the sword on her back. When she turned around again, her face was oddly empty, and the blue of her eyes was ice.   
  
"Ares," Xena said. "That's how we got here."   
  
Not knowing how to respond, Gabrielle tried to reach for her hand, but Xena ignored her.   
  
"He thinks we're dead. You, me, Eve, all of us." Xena turned and began to pace the chamber, her footsteps crunching on the crushed ice and snow underfoot. "He buried us here, with full honours, the way the leaders of his armies are buried when their time comes." She looked at the hole in the ground where her sword had been, then ran her hand along the rim of the chakram. "We won't be seeing him again."   
  
Gabrielle stood in utter silence, gripping the edge of the ice platform for support. It numbed her hands. "Can you ... try to call him?" she asked at last, but knew the answer even before she heard it.   
  
"No point," Xena said dispassionately. "He thinks I'm dead. He won't be listening."   
  
"But Eve's name, on the tombstone..."   
  
"Eve is alive." Xena whirled around, continuing her circuit of the cavern. Finally, she stopped and looked up at the breach in the ceiling. "We'll get her back."   
  
Gabrielle wrapped her arms around herself, trying in vain to stop shivering. "If you did reach Ares, somehow... Would he help...?"   
  
Xena froze for a moment, still looking up. "No."   
  
She removed the chakram from her hip and launched it upwards at the opening. It hit one side, then the other, ricocheting off a wall before she caught it again. The opening widened, sprinkling ice and rocks, then cracks ran down from it along one wall, and a whole section crumbled inwards, helped by the force of an angry whistling wind. Gabrielle sprang back as the rocks tumbled around her.   
  
Outside, it was even brighter, and colder. Cliffs and snow-covered slopes were mercilessly bright against the blue sky. Gabrielle and Xena pushed their way forward along a sheer wall of ice, fighting the stinging wind. It was a clear, cloudless day; far below, fields were visible, toy-box buildings and people around them.   
  
"We have to get down there," Xena raised her voice to carry above the wind.   
  
"How?" Gabrielle screamed her response, barely able to make her numb lips move. The way down seemed to consist largely of gorges and sharp rocks slick with frost.   
  
Xena pulled her behind an outcrop and the wind abated slightly. "Carefully."   
  
She tore strips of linen from her underrobe, twisting the material, then snapped it taut to test the strength of the rope. "It'll have to do." She passed one end to Gabrielle and showed her how to tie it around her waist.   
  
Gabrielle looked into her friend's blue-lipped face, trying wordlessly to offer some comfort. Xena turned away, looking down the mountainside. Then she shook herself.   
  
"Come on."   
  


* * *

  
  
The climb down proved difficult, but not as bad as Xena had expected. At least they managed to avoid slipping on treacherous rocks, and the more insidious dangers of frostbite. Nevertheless, both she and Gabrielle were on the verge of collapse by the time they had reached the small settlement at the foot of the mountain, long after nightfall.   
  
The noisy drinking hall was warm and dark with smoke, and smelled strongly of ale and burnt meat. A spit was turning in the fireplace, an orange-gold fire roaring over the charred meat. Although the heat seared Xena's skin, it did not penetrate any deeper. Inside, in that place where she harboured her baby's laughter, her eyes, her sleepy murmurs – there was only ice. It was easier that way, Xena thought with some measure of gratitude. Easier, too, not to wonder whether she should have let Ares in on their plan to play dead. A vague discomfort surprised her; she tried not to imagine the scene on the beach, the way he must have found her and Gabrielle in the wreckage of a carriage under the cliff, his face when thought he understood. A darker part of her wished she had seen it.   
  
Xena shook her head; there was no point pondering the what-ifs. The dreams she'd had in Ch'in, of a dark figure hungry for Eve's life, had not exactly inspired confidence in Ares. By the time she'd realised the threat was not Ares but Ming Tien, it had been too late. Things might have been different if she could have trusted him in the first place.   
  
It didn't matter anyway. What mattered was the present. The legionaries who had taken Eve had been on their way back to Rome; if she could find this Octavius, she'd find Eve. Xena wondered how much of a lead the Romans had on her.   
  
Opposite her, Gabrielle gazed around the place curiously. She pointed to something on the wall, "What do you think that is?"   
  
Xena looked in the direction she had indicated and shrugged. "A scroll."   
  
"I know it's a scroll," Gabrielle frowned, "I mean - what is it?"   
  
"That's your department," Xena said, fighting impatience. "A scroll's a scroll to me." Where was the food? She wanted to be on the road, moving, getting closer to Eve.   
  
Gabrielle slipped out from behind the table, and went over to investigate the scroll. Xena could not help a flicker of envy. Even at a time like this, Gabrielle had such a zest for life. She somehow managed to find everything about it fascinating – right down to filthy old pieces of parchment decorating a tavern wall, probably pinned up to mask a hole.   
  
"By the gods!" Gabrielle exclaimed, startling an old man nearby into spilling his ale over the table. He gave Gabrielle a nasty look, which she ignored, squeezing past him back to Xena.   
  
"You're not going to believe it!" she said, eyes bright with excitement.   
  
"Try me," Xena smiled up at her sourly. She tried not to sound irritated. Unless that scroll was a map of the shortest route to Rome, she didn't want to hear about it – but it didn't look as though she'd have much of a choice. Gabrielle took no notice of her indifference, smiling broadly.   
  
"That is my scroll, Xena. Mine! And that one, too..."   
  
Xena shrugged, stretching her legs under the table. "So they bought some of your scrolls. Good for you."   
  
Gabrielle waved an impatient hand. "There's more, all along the walls, look! My scrolls on a wall, Xena! I wrote them. That one is all about Eli..."   
  
A merry laugh tinkled behind her, and a buxom red-haired serving girl appeared with soup and ale in wooden kegs. She set the steaming tray on the table and put her hands on her hips.   
  
"I'm sorry, but that's not possible," she said with an air of absolute authority. "Those aren't your scrolls."   
  
"What do you mean?" Gabrielle challenged, a little put out. "Of course they are! I think I know my own work."   
  
"That," the girl waggled a plump finger at the scrolls, "was written by Gabrielle – the Bard of Potadeia." She breathed the name reverently. Both Gabrielle and Xena stared at her. "Ma says it's very old," the girl added proudly. "At least as old as this place – twenty-five summers."   
  
"Doubt it," Xena said, pushing the a soup bowl closer and dipping in her spoon. "Gabrielle wrote about Eli last year. If she says it's her scroll, then it's her scroll."   
  
"Thank you!" Gabrielle said triumphantly.   
  
The serving girl looked from Xena to Gabrielle in consternation. "You're saying that you... you're Gabrielle of Potadeia?" She spoke slowly, as though confirming that Gabrielle had two heads and breathed fire. "The famous bard?"   
  
Gabrielle's cheeks reddened. "Well, I don't know about 'famous', exactly – but yes, I'm the bard of Potadeia. Gabrielle. Nice to meet you, –"   
  
"You're crazy," the girl said shrilly, taking a step back. "Or a liar. Everyone knows that Gabrielle of Potadeia disappeared twenty-five years ago." Warming to her topic, she continued more certainly. "Grandma used to be friendly with Cyrene of Amphipolis – you know, the mother of the legendary Xena. Went over to comfort her when she heard Xena and Gabrielle had disappeared. I bet they died fighting some horrible monster," she added with relish. "It must have been a terrible battle."   
  
Xena stopped eating, the spoon halfway to her lips. There was something macabre about hearing this girl spout such nonsense. And yet...   
  
"Broke her heart, the poor woman," the girl continued, wiping a tear with the corner of her apron. "Grandma says she never recovered. Died ten years ago, bless her memory."   
  
Xena's fingers locked around the girl's hand like a vice. "Repeat that!" she demanded.   
  
"Uh... Cyrene died ten years ago?" said the girl, pulling at her wrist. "Let me go, lady!"   
  
Instead, Xena only gripped tighter. "How long ago did you say Xena and Gabrielle disappeared?"   
  
"Twenty-five years this summer. Hey, Bibulus –" the girl called over her shoulder to a man behind the bar, – "how many years since Ma bought them scrolls up on the wall?"   
  
"Bout twenty, I imagine," he called back over the general din without looking up from the mugs he was filling, "four of five years after we opened here. Got a real nice bargain on that blue one with all the Indian mumbo-jumbo!"   
  
Vindicated, the girl looked back to Xena and Gabrielle. "There, see? Now let go." Her wrist released, the girl covered it with her other hand protectively. "And that's five dinars for the food."   
  
Gabrielle counted out the coins mechanically, handing them to the girl, who glared at her strange customers and left, muttering to herself about drunks and maniacs.   
  
"Twenty-five years," Xena repeated quietly. "I don't believe it." Her eyes met Gabrielle's appalled stare. "But it all makes sense: the tombstone, the caskets, your scrolls... And my mother..." All colour drained from Xena's face, her fingers trembled so badly that she had to clasp her hands to still them. She licked her cracked lips and forced them to form the word – "Eve."   
  
Unable to comprehend it, Gabrielle just shook her head – again and again, but it did not seem to make any difference. The silence was long and unbearable. From somewhere far away, her own voice asked, "What do we do?"   
  
Xena did not answer for a very long time. When the reply came, her voice was calm and clear, but there was a foreign note in it that made Gabrielle feel cold droplets of sweat trickling down her back. "Nothing has changed, Gabrielle."   
  
"But..."   
  
"We go to Rome."   
  
She said no more, but picked up her spoon again to attack her food with a deliberate ferocity. Gabrielle looked at her for a moment, before starting on her own meal. Some autonomous part of her mind began to compose a ballad. It happened all the time in ballads. You could say that sort of thing – twenty-five years later – like it didn't matter what happened in those twenty-five years. The entire span of her life, almost doubled in what seemed like a night, and Eve... How could they ever find a twenty-five year old woman they did not know, among all the people of the Roman empire? Where would they start looking? Octavius and his legion would be long gone.   
  
Everyone would be long gone. And everything.   
  
The impossibility of it was lost in the impossibility of everything else – Gabrielle pushed all thoughts aside and followed Xena's example. The food was simple, and real. She clung to that.   
  


* * *

  
  
Later that night, when Gabrielle was asleep, Xena went into the small peristyle garden of the inn. It was a rectangle of flower beds and evenly spaced trees, still bare of leaves after the winter. Xena touched the smooth, sticky bark of a nearby linden; she could almost feel the sap rushing inside. It did not calm her in the way she had hoped. Every person she and Gabrielle had talked to had confirmed the serving-girl's story, adding new details Xena did not want to see, making this world real. Impossible as it was to believe, it was equally impossible to deny it. Twenty-five years had passed while they had slept – and her baby, her daughter, was lost as irrevocably as the rest of the world.   
  
But not Ares. What if he had searched for Eve, found her? What if the tombstone lied? The thought held too much fear to be a wish.   
  
Xena glared at the dark sky. She had to talk to him! There were so many things to say, to demand. Whenever he'd pull one of his tricks, he'd at least stick around to watch her fight her way out of the mess. But he wasn't here now. She couldn't sense his presence, not even the potential for his presence. It was as though it had been sliced from her mind, amputated. Gone. If she had needed further proof of the passage of time, this was it. It was hardly surprising that her awareness of Ares would be gone after twenty-five years – but the need to feel it was irrational, almost animal in its intensity, like wanting to breathe underwater. The harder Xena had tried to ignore it, the stronger it became, until she was convinced that Ares was standing just behind her and had started to turn at each noise, real or imaginary.   
  
Xena bit her lip; this was crazy! What was the point of trying to call him? He thought she was dead, so much the better. She was just reaching out for something to cling to in this world gone mad, that was all. Hoping it was just another game of his. She could handle that.   
  
She'd grown used to having to deal with his none-too-subtle manipulations, double-edged words and plans she would be obliged to foil – and more recently, those other things, too. Like the way he would glance at her when she let him hold the baby: tentative and a little awkward under the nonchalance. Eve would nestle into his arms and an inexplicable warmth would rise in Xena, watching them. It made her wonder – and it made her look squarely back at Ares when he caught her thoughtful stare. She couldn't let him see her doubts. Still, Eve had changed something in both of them; it was easier not to guess what. Perhaps that was partly why she had been so eager to travel to Ch'in – to get away from Ares, from being forced to deal with him constantly. It hadn't worked. Each time she'd pick up her daughter from the dragon-carved cot, she'd remember that hidden wonder in Ares' eyes – and then at night, she'd toss and turn, and wake up flushed with dreams that lingered in her body defiantly, still tasting the gasping light touches of his mouth...   
  
"Damn." Xena expelled a breath, irritated at herself. Her skin was pounding hot in the chilly air of the garden. There was no time for this!   
  
Before she could change her mind, she cleared her throat and said, "Ares."   
  
She was pleased at how it came out – level and strong in the blue night.   
  
She only said it once, and it made things easier. Her mind had tried to argue with the marker on her grave and the gaping hole in her awareness, clinging to doubts; mercilessly, Xena tore herself free. Whatever her link with Ares had been, it was gone.   
  
The only sounds in the garden belonged to the night; Xena pressed her back to the cool stickiness of the bark and listened to the near-silence. So. After all the years of trying to escape Ares, she had finally managed it. At long last, she was free.   
  
It was a curiously empty feeling.   
  
  
  


Fortuna's Champion

  
  


_Fortuna [was] the Roman goddess of fortune,  
  
and one of the most fervently worshipped  
  
deities of the Roman pantheon.  
  
The favour of Fortuna mattered tremendously  
  
to politicians and generals._   
  
Colleen McCullough, "The First Man In Rome"

  
  
  
  
Athena shook her head, in that irritatingly patronising way of hers. "I thought you'd grown past all that, Ares." The looped braids that decorated her golden helmet bounced with every move of her head and the shine on her armour put Hera's best cutlery to shame.   
  
Ares grimaced. "Are you here to lecture me on my personal growth?"   
  
The two of them were seated at a corner of the long table in the main dining hall on Olympus. After the gossip and clamour of the 'quiet family dinner', the empty room reminded Ares of a marble-and-gold crypt of ridiculous proportions. He much preferred it this way.   
  
Athena drummed her fingers on the tabletop and tried again. "Livia is good, even very good. But she's not great. You know that. I know that. So who do you think you're kidding?"   
  
"See, that's the best part. She doesn't need to be great."   
  
Athena looked at him in disbelief. "You'd pledge your support to a run-of-the-mill mortal?"   
  
Ares' eyes widened in mock horror. "What, and intrude on your territory? I don't think so. I've seen your new champion," he went on conversationally, "Ilainus of Mycenae. Interesting proportions – she certainly needs all the support she can get."   
  
Athena pressed her lips together. "Much as I love your talent for innuendo, Brother, it's your other talents I'm concerned about. Starting senseless wars, for example."   
  
Ares drew his dagger and ran a fingertip along the blade. "You're missing the point, Sis. This war wouldn't be just another bloodbath."   
  
"More like a whole bathing pool." Athena shook her head. "Besides, whatever happened to your other 'champion'? Varia, the Amazon queen-in-waiting? You keep telling me you don't play favourites, Ares."   
  
"I don't. Varia's not great either."   
  
Ares rather enjoyed watching his sister's sceptical expression dissolve into incomprehension. He returned the dagger to his belt and stretched in his seat.   
  
"There hasn't been a really good battle for years. Livia can give me that – and so can Varia. Rome goes up against the Amazons, or the Amazons rise up against Rome" – he shrugged. "Either way, I win. And who knows, once the dust settles, maybe I'll end up with a great champion after all."   
  
"Ares." His sister's voice became softer, the mocking self-importance in her pale blue eyes replaced by something like sympathy. "Don't try to look for another Xena. It won't work."   
  
Ares flinched. Hearing that name, its particular combination of sounds, ripped into the empty spot inside him and poked around, searching for something he'd never had. It was none of Athena's business, anyway.   
  
"Xena's dead," he said almost easily. "I'm moving with the times. Livia wants to fight for Rome, Varia wants to fight against it – can't say I see the appeal, but hey, a fight's a fight."   
  
"Xena hated Rome."   
  
"Xena is dead," Ares repeated.   
  
Athena smiled slightly, without humour. "You want to pretend you don't give a damn – go right ahead. I'll even pretend to believe you." She rose to her feet, the gold baubles on her helmet clinking together. "But you know as well as I do that when the dust settles, the only thing left behind will be dust. No great champions."   
  
"I guess they just don't make 'em like they used to." Ares stood up as well. "Is there a point here somewhere?"   
  
"Yes – which is more than can be said for this war."   
  
"Think of it as recreational warfare."   
  
"I'd rather not."   
  
Ares shrugged. "In that case, you're going to have to find another way to occupy your time. I've got business in Rome." He had started to disappear when he heard Athena call out.   
  
"Wait! What kind of business?"   
  
Ares grinned, and fell back into the waiting aether – "A triumph."   
  


* * *

  
  
The square in front of the imperial palace was alive with people – thousands upon thousands of faces, a humming, merry crowd. People jostled on either side of the rope barriers, new arrivals trying to press into an already full square from the surrounding streets, eager for a glimpse of the action. Guards prodded and pushed them back, but without hostility; they, too, were in a remarkably good mood today. Rome loved a celebration – and what better celebration could there be than the triumph of a Roman general?   
  
At last, the noise abated, and the guards managed to force the crowd back from the barriers, carving an undulating alley in the centre of the square. Those fortunate enough to have found themselves with an unobstructed view had to fight off the less lucky spectators.   
  
"Get your fat carcass back!" panted a sandy-haired man, trying to hold on to his toga with his left hand, while thrusting his free right elbow into the heaving mass of humanity that threatened to knock him into the point of a guard's spear.   
  
"Nice... nice way to ... greet a fellow old legionary, Gaius Pompeius!" wheezed another man behind him.   
  
The sandy-haired man turned his head, recognising the voice. "Jupiter! I don't believe it!" He reached back and pulled his friend from the crowd, struggling to keep his balance against the rope barrier. "Marcus Sergius!" He gripped the man's forearm in a soldier's greeting, "You dried-up old fart! Where've you been all these years?"   
  
Marcus Sergius' dark craggy face came alight with a grin, made lopsided by a scar running along one cheek to his earlobe. "Now that's more like it! Out and about, provinces mostly," he said, still wheezing. "Business." He followed his friend's example and clung to the rope barrier, bracing himself against the onslaught of spectators behind them. "It is good to see you again, Gaius. How long has it been? Seven years? Eight?"   
  
"Twelve summers since our last campaign."   
  
"That long?" Marcus shook his head. "Damned if I know where the time went." The two men craned their necks to look back along the long gap in the crowd. "I see you've got more grey in your hair than old Octavius himself," Marcus grinned.   
  
Gaius shrugged dismissively. "Augustus, he calls himself these days, and if a bit o'grey hair's all right for the Emperor of all Rome, what's an old soldier to complain?   
  
Marcus began to reply, but the shrill sound of trumpets drowned him out. This was followed by a growing rumble in the crowd and, finally, an explosion of cheers as a detachment of mounted guards appeared, the red plumes of their helmets swaying in time with their horses' steps. But it was not them the crowd was cheering.   
  
At the head of the lavish procession rode a young woman on a glorious white stallion. A general's thin red sash was knotted above her waist, her cuirass blazing in the sunlight with cold fire. Long strands of brown hair flashed gold as they caught the reflected glint. The haughty tilt of her chin and the challenge in her eyes emphasised her youth, but dared anyone to judge her by it.   
  
"There she is!" cried Marcus, and indeed, at the sight of the young woman, the crowd went wild. Screams and cries of adulation thundered through the air, incomprehensible at first, then resolving into "Livia! Champion of Rome!!" and "Fortuna's blessing!"   
  
"Some blessing," Marcus lamented fondly, a proud smile on his scarred face as Livia and her guard rode sedately towards the Imperial palace. "Little horror of a brat if you ask me – and I ought to know!"   
  
"Ah, stop your posturing." Gaius' own eyes were taking in the procession just as eagerly. "You haven't seen the girl since she was sixteen!"   
  
"True, and I hear her parents' house has been blissfully quiet ever since. Blessing, indeed! Fair like a Fury, drove us all to distraction with her temper."   
  
"Hush your scarred mouth, you old heretic," laughed Gaius, "you'll piss off Fortuna – and even a stupid hulk like you may yet have use for the Goddess of Luck!"   
  
Marcus laughed uproariously. "If anyone can deal with my Livia, it must be Fortuna herself! No wonder the girl toppled off that cliff unscarred – even Pluto didn't want her in the Underworld!"   
  
Gaius shook his head in grudging admiration. "Nine years on the battlefield, Marcus my friend, and not a mark on her, they say. Well you may sneer, but the girl is charmed, and that's a fact."   
  
"Oh, no argument from me," Marcus raised his voice to carry over another cheer that had erupted around them – the procession was now level with where the two men were standing. "Fell smack onto an old battlefield – if that's not a sign, I don't know what is."   
  
Livia acknowledged the crowd with a curt nod, but her eyes did not leave the palace balcony just ahead. Straight-backed and solemn in her general's armour, majestic in the saddle of her mount, there was something about her that left no doubt in the mind of anyone watching – they were looking at the Champion of Rome, symbol of Fortuna's love for her people, the goddess's love for Rome. New waves of cheers swelled in the distance as the procession continued past, parading the spoils of the campaign: gold, Gaelic slaves, more gold. The chained prisoners were muscular, tall, fair – sullen and heavy-browed men and women who looked exactly the way a barbarian was supposed to look to the fascinated eyes of a Roman: Livia picked her trophies with care. The crowd loved it. Livia raised a hand to another thunderous cheer.   
  
"Livia of Rome," Marcus Sergius said with a reverence that denied his earlier flippancy. "A true Livia, for all that she is not truly of Livian blood. She'll be Empress yet, mind my word, Gaius."   
  
Gaius watched Livia's red-cloaked back for a moment, remembering the foundling baby he and Marcus had presented to their commander, Octavius, all those years ago. Even then, the girl had had a determined look about her. Empress?   
  
"I don't doubt it," he said.   
  
A hush fell over the crowd – up ahead, the purple curtains that concealed the palace balcony were opened.   
  
"All hail Augustus Caesar, the divine Emperor!" screamed the guards, as a togate man wearing a laurel crown stepped up to the parapet. Below, Livia bowed her head a fraction, but continued looking at the Emperor. The throng in the square erupted once again in a deafening cheer – this time, for the Emperor.   
  
Augustus held up his hands and the crowd subsided into silence.   
  
"Once again, Fortuna has smiled upon her favourite!" His voice carried over the square, taken up into the distance by heralds, faithfully repeating the Emperor's every word. "She has smiled upon Rome! Rome is great, citizens – Rome is glorious! And her glory has been magnified a thousandfold by the woman before you – the chosen of Fortuna herself! Hail Livia – Fortuna's Champion and the protector of Rome! Livia!"   
  
The crowd picked up the name and screamed it, while Livia remained where she was, not moving a muscle; only her face glowed with a satisfaction so private and fierce that even high on his balcony, Augustus felt its force with a shock of fearful pride. He looked down at her: so beautiful, so terrible, her barbarian eyes shining as though she truly was a goddess. She was his own tamed panther that was neither of those things – never tamed, and never, ever, his own. But that could be changed.   
  
Augustus smiled down at his champion, trying to ignore the flutter in his heart at the predatory curl of her lips – those lips! – and made up his mind. Fortuna sent Livia to him, after all. It was high time to accept her gift.   
  
He made a small gesture with one hand, all the while waving to the crowd with the other, his benevolent smile never faltering. "When the ceremony is finished, bring the general to my palace," he said without glancing in the direction of the servant who had appeared at his command. "I will be dining with the Champion of Rome tonight."   
  
  
  


The Ascent

  
  


_She had a niece's privilege of kissing and caressing [him], and  
  
exercised it with a noticeable effect on the emperor's passions...  
  
The wedding took place without delay..._   
  
Suetonius, "Claudius"

  
  
  
  
Another inn, another night. Exactly the same as the dozens – hundreds? – of other inns they had seen along the way from Mount Aetna, and now here, within Rome itself. Men sang drunkenly, wooden spoons clanked against bowls. Gabrielle stared down at her red, chapped hands, cradling a cup of something that passed for wine. Worrying. Days had slipped into weeks, yet there was no sign of Eve anywhere. It was hard to believe that there ever would be.   
  
The festive air in the city was cloying, but there was a curious comfort in feeling invisible among all the faces. And Xena was right; a military celebration would draw the right kind of crowd. All those soldiers hanging around town, their families, friends, whores – what better chance could there be of finding a child taken by a couple of legionaries?   
  
Rome, as usual, was in the midst of yet another fad: a triumphing general who was said to be beloved by the goddess of Fortune. There were strange stories about the woman's origins. They varied widely, but agreed on one thing: the infant Livia had been found by some soldiers, showed incredible aptitude for all things military at an early age and was now a favourite of the Emperor.   
  
Had Gabrielle heard these tales a few weeks ago, she would have probably shared Xena's suspicions; as it was, there had been so many disappointments that it was too painful to get her hopes up every time, and even more painful to see Xena's face close up a little more as each one was crushed.   
  
Still, it was certainly worth checking out. Just to be sure. They had not managed to get a good view during the parade, so the only thing to do now was to stake out the inns most likely to be frequented by Livia's soldiers. This was the fifth one for the night; Gabrielle had no doubt that by now, Xena would have tried at least as many, with as little luck. The plan was to meet back here, but there was no sign of her yet.   
  


* * *

  
  
"Ah." Augustus raised himself up on his elbow as the door to his dining room swung open. He moved a scroll he had been studying off the narrow table before his couch-seat. "Welcome, my dear."   
  
"Augustus." Livia smiled slightly in greeting before striding over to the low table, set for two. She knew her gown slinked around her as she walked, and knew that Augustus noticed.   
  
The chamber was a large square, the walls covered with tapestries depicting the glory of Rome: here, Remus and Romulus, suckled by the she-wolf as babes; there, by the window, the triumph of the great Scipio Africanus... Livia's gaze flickered to a new tapestry hung over Augustus' couch, its threads still bright and free from dust: Fortuna, resplendent in her guise as Fortune of the Present Day, crowning a general with a wreath of laurel. General? A little thrill of pleasure surprised Livia as she looked closer – it was her! Her own head was being crowned by the goddess in the woven scene: Fortuna's Champion.   
  
"Do you like it?" Augustus asked eagerly, following Livia's gaze to the wall behind him. "I ordered it made as soon as news of your victories in Gaul reached us."   
  
"It's perfect." Livia tore her eyes from the scene with some regret. She wondered whether he would have been as eager to welcome he back had she lost her campaign, then dismissed the thought as useless. Losing formed no part of her plans. "I'm flattered, Caesar."   
  
Augustus winced in distaste. "Drop the 'Caesar', Livilla, do." He opened his mouth to say more, but Livia came around the table to the head of his couch and put her arms around his neck, bending down to plant a kiss on his clean-shaven cheek. She felt Augustus catch his breath and tightened her hold on his neck.   
  
"Consider it dropped," she whispered, kissing his other cheek, lingering a little longer than was warranted by mere gratitude for his patronage. She allowed him the diminutive only because she knew it made him feel closer to her – and that illusion was so very useful. No one else had dared to call her that in years. Not since she turned sixteen, and... Well, since she stopped being Livilla.   
  
Augustus wanted something from her, something serious.   
  
"Uh... Sit down, my dear," he found his voice at last. "I would like your opinion on something."   
  
Livia sat on the straight-backed chair opposite Augustus' couch, folding her hands carefully in her lap to disguise their trembling. Anticipation made her giddy. "What is it?"   
  


* * *

  
  
Gabrielle glanced around the drinking hall again. She and Xena had combed the city, and every town on the way here – but what was the point? All Xena knew was that the name of one of the men was Marcus, but that was as useless as knowing that their commander had been Octavius. It had taken days to discover that Octavius was none other than Augustus, the current Emperor, but that was more hindrance than help: he had been the commander of the entire army. He might know something about this Livia, of course, but they could hardly storm into the palace and demand an audience – not that Gabrielle would put that beyond Xena if all else failed...   
  
"Hope you don't mind my rudeness, miss, but this is no place for a pretty young lady like yourself."   
  
Gabrielle looked up – into the dark, wine-flushed face of a stocky fifty-ish man, holding a cup of wine like her own. Despite the puckered white scar that split his cheek from nose to ear, he looked friendly enough, and Gabrielle searched for a smile.   
  
"I've seen worse," she shrugged. Behind him, the door opened and shut, letting in cold night air and another customer. Not Xena. "I'm waiting for a friend."   
  
The man motioned at the seat across from her questioningly, and Gabrielle nodded, momentarily aware of the reassuring weight of the sais concealed in her boots. The man sat.   
  
"You're not from around here, are you?" He set his cup down, looking her over curiously. "All alone in a Subura inn like this." He glanced at Gabrielle's silver-gauntleted wrists. "A fighter, then?"   
  
"You could say that."   
  
"An Amazon!" the man grinned, chipped teeth flashing. He stretched out his arm in greeting – "I'm Marcus Sergius, by the way."   
  
Marcus?   
  
"Gabrielle." She shook his callused hand, looking at him more closely. Definitely an old soldier, grown paunchy around the middle, but there was no mistaking the military bearing.   
  
"And yourself?" she asked lightly. "I can see you were in the legions."   
  
Marcus grunted. "Once a legionary, always a legionary."   
  
"The you've served under Livia?" Gabrielle probed further. He was no doubt too old to be in the current force, but she deliberately steered the conversation in this direction. If he knew anything at all about the commander...   
  
Quite unexpectedly, Marcus sighed. "Haven't been on campaign in over a decade, miss. Came to Rome for my girl's triumph."   
  
Gabrielle tensed. "Your girl?"   
  
"Livia. Champion of Rome, they call her – but to me, she's still the snotty-nosed little thing I found, screaming among the dead bodies on some gods-forsaken battlefield."   
  
Gabrielle's mounting excitement shattered into anger at herself. Once again, she'd made the mistake of starting to hope, and once again found herself staring at a dead end. Eve had not been left on a battlefield. Just another disappointment.   
  
No big deal, she reminded herself. She had heard this sort of tale often enough in her short time in Rome. Every soldier seemed to have found Livia at one time or another, and she had nothing to lose by listening to yet another version. It could come in useful.   
  
"You found Livia yourself?"   
  
Marcus laughed. "True as I live. Such a little thing she was – only the goddess's favour could have saved her. Amazing. I scooped her up with my own two hands," he held out his rough palms for Gabrielle's inspection, "and took her to my centurion."   
  
Gabrielle imitated an indulgent laugh. "You know you're the sixth man in Rome who told me that he had been the one to find Livia? And every story is different."   
  


* * *

  
  
"Please, help yourself first," said Augustus, indicating the richly laden table with a sweep of his hand.   
  
"Thank you." Livia curbed her impatience to hear whatever it was Augustus had in mind and reached for some bread, seasoning it with a little olive oil. She ate sparingly, too fidgety to have much interest in food, feeling sorely out of place in the opulence of the palace after the long months in the field.   
  
It would never do.   
  
Livia straightened her spine and tried to look well-bred and restrained, two qualities she had long since learned to feign when required. She added a little sensuality to her bearing, not too much. Augustus had to be cultivated with the greatest care. A mistake now would be disastrous.   
  
Surreptitiously, she studied Augustus from under dark, deliberately lowered lashes. He had aged somewhat since she had last seen him, but nevertheless remained a striking man – soft-eyed and a touch weak perhaps, but not entirely unattractive, when his power was weighed into the balance. Power and weakness. A potent combination.   
  
Augustus cleared his throat. "I have a proposal for you, my dear."   
  


* * *

  
  
"Well," said Marcus, "In that case, I won't bore you with yet another retelling."   
  
Gabrielle started to protest that she really did not mind hearing the story again, but Marcus continued. "I used to visit her, just to see how her foster family was treating her. They were good to her, the Livii, but that girl always did have her sights set on greater things."   
  
His eyes grew sorrowful and moist, the glistening stare of a man mellowed by a bit too much wine and warmth. "She'd tell me things – trusted me, I think. Then she turned sixteen, and said, just as we're talking now, she said: 'I've decided what my future will be, Marcus Sergius.' What's that, I said? Livia looked me in the eye and declared: 'I'm going to lead the Roman army.'"   
  
Gabrielle listened intently, exactly as she had listened to every other man who had told her this kind of story. Marcus had a certain honesty about him that, once upon a time, would have enticed her into trusting him implicitly. She looked into her dark wine, then sipped it. There was a bitterness in knowing better.   
  
"What happened then?" she asked.   
  
"Damned fool that I was, I laughed at her. Livilla, I said, that's no job for a girl. What'd you want an army for?" Marcus shook his head sadly. "She fixed me with this cold stare she has, like she used to do with her parents, but never with me, and said, 'I will do it.' And that was the last time I saw her – until the parade."   
  
Gabrielle could not help feeling for the man, and she had to remind herself, sternly, that the storytelling had nothing to do with the truth of the tale. Still, her sympathy was genuine. "You really loved her, didn't you?"   
  
"Love?" He chuckled. "She's not an easy kid to love – wicked claws and a brain to match. If you stand in her way, it's because she put you there." Marcus drank the last of his wine, and got up. "But I watched her take her first steps, taught her to read a map. Gave her her first dagger – the Livii nearly kicked me out when they found out, but she always did get her way. So, when she closed that door on me, it was my kid locking me out, you know?"   
  
Gabrielle rubbed her face. It was all getting too much. "Yeah, I know." She shook the man's hand in weary farewell. "Thanks for the story."   
  


* * *

  
  
"You want to marry me." Livia fought to keep her face impassive, but it was difficult – so very difficult! – when inside, her mind screamed victory. Rome! Empress of Rome!! She thought she tasted blood on her tongue and looked away, lest Augustus see her triumph.   
  
"That's right, my dear," the Emperor said pleasantly. He was sitting up now, reaching across the table between them to take Livia's hands into his own. "You see, politically, it would be a wonderful union. Fortuna's chosen Champion, and Rome herself – what could be more natural?"   
  
"I see," Livia managed, still not trusting herself to look at him. There was a hot pulse in her temples that she had never noticed before; delightful shivers of energy rushed to every muscle in her body.   
  
Augustus misread her tone as uncertainty. He gripped her hands tighter, massaging his fingers into her palms, stroking her wrists. Each touch pierced her nerves with a thrill, curling her fingers into fists. "That's reason enough for the senate. But that's not why I want you for my wife, Livilla."   
  
Livia looked up.   
  
"All those years ago, when you were brought before me as a baby, I knew you would be special. So when I saw you again, grown to womanhood and telling me that Fortuna and War were yours to command – well, I didn't have to think too long. I knew you had it in you."   
  
Augustus sat forward; Livia felt him touch his fingers to her wrists, then move gently upwards, along the exposed skin of her arms. "I waited for every victory, Livilla," the emperor whispered, "for every tribute you brought to Rome..." He paused in the crook of her elbows, manicured nails impressing his point. "But what I really waited for was this. Seeing you."   
  
Livia closed her eyes, savouring the moment. Finally! All her pains, all her plans, everything she had worked for – it had been worth it! Ares was so right. She would have Rome at her feet.   
  
She opened her eyes to allow Augustus to see that they were bright with unshed tears. He rose and walked over to Livia's chair, kneeling before her, holding her hands. "I love you, Livilla," he said. "Marry me."   
  
Livia wanted to laugh, scream, find Ares' temple and offer a sacrifice like any old mortal, to kiss him and feel the rush of power his kisses held... None of it would have been enough, the sheer sweetness of this moment surpassed anything she had imagined in her wildest dreams. The Emperor of Rome, kneeling at her feet like a lovestruck fool! It was insane – and it was hers. All hers. Everything.   
  
"I will marry you, Augustus," she said, and looked into his upturned face: so powerful, and so weak.   
  
The Emperor rose again, offering Livia his arm with the utmost solemnity to draw her to her feet. "I will speak to the Senate as soon as possible," he said. "We will be married."   
  
"But not just yet."   
  
Augustus looked startled.   
  
Livia put her other hand on his. "Delay the announcement a little while, Caesar. I wish to make you a wedding gift. "   
  


* * *

  
  
Marcus nodded. "You're welcome – and take care of yourself in this city." Gabrielle watched him weave his way expertly through the narrow spaces between tables, watched as a lumbering drunk staggered out of his seat in front of Marcus...   
  
"Hey! Watch where you're going, dumbass!" There was a crash, and the two men fell in a tangle of tunics and limbs; the table squeaked along the floorboards as they struggled to get up in the cramped space. A spattering of curses was swiftly followed by the dull thud of a punch.   
  
"Marcus!" Gabrielle was there instantly, offering the soldier her hand. Marcus got to his feet, breathing hard. Seeing the barkeep coming, the other man scrambled away.   
  
"Like I was saying, miss," Marcus smiled painfully, blood pooling in the corner of his lips and trickling out, "the Subura is not the prettiest place in Rome."   
  
A drop of red off his chin hit the floor; Gabrielle looked down after it. There was something there, a small, ragged-looking object... She bent down to pick it up – and gasped.   
  
Marcus's hand closed over hers swiftly, squeezing the soft little thing from her grip. "Thank you," he said, turning to go.   
  
"Wait!" yelled Gabrielle, then remembered to lower her voice. "How... Where did you get that from?"   
  
Marcus opened his palm, looking at the thing thoughtfully. In the low, flickering light of the tavern, the beaded tassels and strips of braided leather looked small and useless – but Gabrielle's heart beat faster, certain now of what it was. The symbol of an Amazon right of caste. Her own right of caste, in fact. Or, rather, Eve's.   
  
She felt light-headed and ill, there was a thought beating down the doors to her conscience, and Gabrielle couldn't let it in. From somewhere beyond her own mind, Marcus's voice drifted into her: "I want to give it to Livia," he seemed to be saying, "It's the only thing I have left of her..."   
  
The torchlight swam in bright pools before Gabrielle's eyes. Of course, an old battlefield! How could she have forgotten that the beach where they had lost Eve had been strewn with mangled steel, broken arrows... In a corner behind her, someone started to sing.   
  
"Good-bye," she heard Marcus' voice. The cold air from the doorway slipped icy fingers around her neck, making the warmth of the tavern unbearable.   
  
Xena would be back soon.   
  


* * *

  
  
It wasn't until later that night that Marcus discovered the little pendant gone. He thought about retracing his steps to the tavern, but knew that it would be useless. Perhaps it had been selfish to keep it, not to have returned it to Livia all those years ago... Now... Now, he had no pretext to see her – and nothing left.   
  
He stopped in the stinking Subura street, heedless of the scurrying rats and people around him, and looked up. The narrow strip of sky was a starless black, and the moon looked pale and lost, the way it always did in the city. It had been a mistake to come to Rome.�   
  


To Have And To Hold

  
  


_This living hand, now warm and capable  
  
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold  
  
And in the icy silence of the tomb,  
  
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights  
  
That thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood  
  
So in my veins red life might stream again,  
  
And thou be conscience-calmed – see here it is –  
  
I hold it towards you._   
  
John Keats

  
  
Grim-faced guards patrolled the palace square, their presence rendering it silent and deserted, an island of wary calm in a city given over to revelry. The triumphal feast in the evening had melted without pause into the bacchanalia at night; the music surged out of the beating heart of the palace, bypassed the guards and pulsed through the paved veins of roads, the venules of alleyways and onward into the night.   
  
Xena pressed herself into the shadow of an awning hidden in the mouth of a tiny street and watched the square. Two lines of torches marked the entrance; the marble glowed gold where more torches stretched right and left along the façade. A pair of guards strolled across the flagstones, their hobnailed boots echoing the rhythm of the music within. There, in the palace, a woman who had never known her mother was celebrating her victories. Outside, in the chill spring wind, a mother who had never known her daughter could not bring herself to leave the shadows.   
  
Perhaps it wasn't her after all. Not Eve. A coincidence, a mistake... Xena's hand flew to her waist, brushing almost accidentally the frayed leather of the Amazon pendant, but closed over the coldness of the chakram instead. Yet another little pang of unease prickled at her – Gabrielle... She had a right to be here too, didn't she? Gabrielle had found the pendant, had given it to her... Was she hurting Gabrielle by insisting that she wait back at the inn? She must be. But this, Xena had to do alone, she couldn't, wouldn't, let Gabrielle see her right now. Like birth, like death, there were moments where no other could follow... She would understand. She had to understand.   
  
The guards came closer, and every muscle in Xena's body tensed in a familiar, comforting way. Thoughts ended, and a primaeval instinct of the hunt took over. She was a predator, poised for the kill so that her young could live.   
  
Everything happened very quickly then, with the efficient precision that was second nature to Xena, or perhaps first. A throw of the chakram, a distraction, two faces turned in the same wrong direction, a metallic twang, heavy thuds followed by two helmets rolling on the stones... And then, silence again.   
  
The men sprawled on the ground; Xena checked the results perfunctorily, more from habit than a fear that she had missed her mark. Concussed, but not dead – she had minutes, precious minutes before they woke up and she would be forced to deal with them more permanently.   
  
She dragged the unconscious guards into the gutter, well out of sight. Her cloak followed, stuffed into a hollow in a wall. The armour had been left behind at the inn, her sword, too; Xena thought about leaving the chakram here, but decided against it. The glint of the weapon reminded her of Ares, unwelcome feelings for which she had no place and no time. She pushed them aside, and concealed the chakram as best she could under her servant's dress. The sheer fabric was insufficient protection from the night, but the only plausible costume for a strange woman at the royal bacchanalia.   
  
As an afterthought, she unwound one of the dark gauzy scarves from her waist and draped it around her face, concealing her nose and mouth. The disguise would not stand up to close scrutiny, but it would be sufficient precaution against curious Roman eyes. Xena hated giving in to the need for it. She always felt naked in Rome.   
  
A sound at the far end of the dark street alerted her to the approach of another patrol, but Xena was across the square and in the shadow of the palace before they came into view. She waited for the guards to continue past, their measured strides infuriatingly slow. Now that she was finally moving, all remaining hesitation had fled, to be replaced by urgency – she had be sure that this Livia was her Eve, right now. She didn't think she could stand another moment of uncertainty. Then, she would deal with the consequences. Later. Animal-like, she squeezed her entire awareness into the now, deliberately forcing memories of the past and fears of the future from her mind. Later.   
  


* * *

  
  
In the candlelight, the quill cast bluish shadows on the parchment in Gabrielle's lap. The air stank of cheap tallow: the search for Eve had eaten dangerously into their resources. Sitting cross-legged was making her back ache, but there was no writing table in the room. Gabrielle reread the single paragraph in her scroll, penned neatly across the top:   
  
Who can know what the future holds? Not they who are adrift in the present, nor they who are ignorant of the past. The mother, she who wept for her lost daughter, weeps more bitterly still, having found her. And the daughter, what of her? She who never knew her mother grows like a lone pine upon a hilltop, embracing the changing wind and not the constant sun.   
  
How romantic, Gabrielle winced. This scroll had the makings of a magnificent epic: an implausible plot; tragically noble characters fighting a losing battle against the currents of time – and meditations on the nature of mortality. Sometimes Gabrielle wondered whether she was, in fact, unwittingly writing fiction.   
  
There would be no room in this scroll for another character. The story would not allow for the mother's pain to be shared, that would diffuse the dramatic effect. And besides, in what capacity would Gabrielle appear? Even the last resort, the simple role of confidante, was denied her now. There was a gulf between Xena and herself, one that Gabrielle longed to bridge, even felt she could, but did not dare. She had no right.   
  
Now that they knew Eve was Livia of Rome, there was altogether too much reality to face. It had gone unspoken that Eve, grown up in a night, would have a life of her own, one in which Xena and Gabrielle would be outsiders. That alone would have been hard enough. Yet to know that every one of Xena's fears had been realised, that Eve's life had turned out so much like her mother's – that burden settled heavily between them and could not be moved. The unspoken had become the unspeakable.   
  
It eroded Gabrielle's connection with Xena, widening the gulf; every day breaking them apart a little more. In this alien world, loneliness was somehow more frightening, and more complete, than ever before.   
  
Gabrielle lifted her eyes. Across from her, the window was shuttered for the night. She knew that beyond it, the blackness stretched all the way to the palace. Out there, alone by choice, Xena would be trying to find a way in, trying to get a glimpse of Livia. Eve... Her daughter.   
  
And a Roman soldier would be looking for the last remaining token of his own daughter, the little pendant that reminded him of the baby he had found twenty-five years ago. The pendant Gabrielle had stolen.   
  
There. She admitted it. It made no difference that the right of caste had belonged to her before Eve, or that Marcus had been planning to return it to the rightful owner anyway. All those things were just excuses. The pendant would fetch scarcely a dinar at a market stall – a worthless trinket that had no value to anyone except those who knew what it represented... and those who had imbued it with their own meaning.   
  
Gabrielle leaned over to dip her quill in the inkwell on the floor. After a moment's pause, she wrote:   
  
And I, with no remedy for the mother's pain, why do I offer the daughter her past? The cost is great, and the payment is innocence. Is it not better for her to live as she is, unburdened by what cannot be changed? Walk away, walk away, speak the stars, for we have seen the future. Loneliness lies ahead for the outsider. The daughter will consume the mother, and the outsider will grieve alone. But I do not dare walk away. The cost is great and the way is lonely – but who can tell what the future brings, save those who know the past?   
  
Gabrielle lowered the quill. The two short paragraphs stared at her forlornly from the scroll. It was hard, spending yet another night waiting. It hurt to be sidelined, to feel like the lonely tagalong who had clung to Xena years ago in Potadeia – perhaps hurt all the more because she was no longer that child and she didn't want to regret that. She could have demanded to go with Xena to the palace tonight, but pride, or anger, had stopped her asking, and Xena had not offered.   
  
On the windowsill, the candle sputtered and died. Gabrielle watched the glowing tip of the wick redden into darkness. A final wisp of smoke, and the room was black. Fumbling in the dark, Gabrielle picked up the scroll by a corner, hoping that the ink would not run; she could not afford a new scroll right now. The bed creaked in protest as she got down and felt around for the inkpot, stoppering it by touch.   
  
She could just as easily wait for Xena in the tavern, where there were tables to write on and more light. Gabrielle opened the door and was momentarily blinded by a lamp hung at her eye level, on what was the high ceiling of the drinking hall downstairs. When her eyes readjusted, she glanced down over the balustrade at the few remaining patrons, scattered around the tables below. Perhaps that was all she needed. Light.   
  


* * *

  
  
The marble wall was cold and smooth against Xena's back as she made her way, shadow-like, along the perimeter of the building. The servants' entrance was a few steps away. She squatted in the lee of the stairway, not breathing, as a short plump slave propped open the door and propelled a covered cart inside – firewood. Another similar cart waited outside. The man and his load disappeared within; Xena could see a dimly lit storage room and beyond that, the colourful mural on a corridor wall.   
  
She uncoiled in a catlike leap, landing noisessly to crouch beside the second load of firewood. A quick check assured her that the servant's back was turned as he unloaded the cart. The moment was all Xena required. When the man returned for the rest of the wood, she was already inside the storage room.   
  
She watched him gather up the kindling for the hearth-fires, then noted the direction he took as he shuffled right past her and out into the corridor. He would be heading towards the party, to stoke the hearth for the guests. Currents of cold air swirled around Xena as the door swung shut, leaving the winds outside.   
  
There were earthenware pitchers of wine in the storeroom, set out ready to be hauled up to the guests. Quite a few had already been taken, leaving dark circles in the dust. Xena lifted one of the remaining vessels with difficulty, feeling the liquid slosh heavily against the sides. Unwieldy as it was, it was still the best prop she could have hoped for. She adjusted the handle in her hand, then took a few breaths to ease herself into the role she had adopted, and went out into the corridor.   
  


* * *

  
  
Gabrielle could see no reason why she should be unable to write, seated at a table with a good lamp and a mug of mulled wine. There wasn't much noise this time of night, just the whine of a mosquito above her left ear and the occasional plodding of a horse's hooves outside. No reason at all. But the words would not come.   
  
She was drunk, just enough to realise it, not enough to find comfort in the fact. There was no false cheerfulness, and the resentful melancholy that had suffocated her in her room was only made worse out here. The tavern seemed spacious in its emptiness, and Gabrielle felt like she could fill all that space with her loneliness, and remain unchanged.   
  
A young man came to sit at a table across from her. Gabrielle observed him idly, a single spot of movement in the sleepy tavern. He was tall and well-built, with warm brown eyes and dark, slightly unruly hair. A serving girl ambled towards him, stifling a yawn – he smiled and shook his head. The girl left with a shrug, obviously too tired to demand that he order a drink or move on. The young man pulled out a scroll and some quills from his pack and settled into his seat.   
  
Gabrielle stood up. It occurred to her that he could be anything: a tax collector, a merchant recording the day's takings, a soldier writing a letter to his sweetheart – but she knew the moment she saw the quills that he was a writer. Not because the ink stains on his fingers showed any particular pattern, and not because he frowned at the parchment in some kind of special, writer's way. Gabrielle simply wanted him to be a writer.   
  
She approached, clutching her own unfinished scroll, and glanced at the name scrawled at the top of the unrolled parchment. Virgil. He sat, absorbed in reading or thought.   
  
"Virgil? What's that?"   
  
Her voice startled him into looking up, his hands flying to cover the parchment as he saw the woman in front of him. "Nothing." His eyes narrowed, "How do you know my name?"   
  
Gabrielle pointed to his scroll with a tiny movement that could have been a shrug or a smile. "Um – right there."   
  
Virgil moved his hands aside and glanced down, then blushed. "Ah." He stared down at the writing as if seeing it for the first time. "I write poems," he admitted. He nudged the rolled-up part of the parchment and it spilled into his lap in a long ribbon of writing. "Epic poems." There was amused self-deprecation in his tone.   
  
Gabrielle grinned and plopped down in the chair opposite him. "I knew it. You're a bard! What's your poem about?"   
  
Virgil gave her a wary look, as though not used to genuine interest in his work. Gabrielle held his gaze honestly, and his wariness dissolved into a smile that warmed her heart and warded off the night's chill. A pleasant knot curled in Gabrielle's stomach at the transformation in his face.   
  
"About a hero." Virgil paused. "My family isn't keen on the idea, so I write out here. I think they wish I was a real hero instead of writing about one."   
  
"Epic poems," Gabrielle repeated slowly. "With an implausible plot, tragically noble characters and meditations about mortality?" Accepting Virgil's agreement, she bent her head over the scroll, feeling a wonderful thrill at being able to share another's writing this night – and a second thrill at his sudden closeness, guiding her hands to the beginning of the poem.   
  
"It starts back here..."   
  


* * *

  
  
There was a stairwell up ahead; lazy dance music flowed from the top floor, along with tendrils of smoke that curled in the air. The slave's plump figure bobbed up the stairs and faded into the thickening smoke; Xena hurried after him, keeping her eyes downcast and her posture carefully submissive in case anyone was watching.   
  
The music became louder as she ascended the stairs, the smoke even thicker, red-tinged, eating at her eyes and the back of her throat. Its sweetness made her slightly light-headed, and for an instant she felt she was floating. She stepped onto the floor of the hall, strewn with plush red rugs that did not seem to dampen the noise of the music. The sound was harsh and at the same time lilting; its rhythm made Xena sway involuntarily. She checked the movement, her annoyance sufficient to clear her head for a moment. Eve. She was looking for Eve, she had to find Eve. Livia.   
  


* * *

  
  
It was an immense relief to talk about writing, about ballads and odes and rhyme and meter, for the first time in so many years. It made Gabrielle feel very young to find again that passion of her adolescence, to feel it equally strong in this stranger. There was residual sadness that that time of her life was past, and anger, but it was distant and unimportant. Virgil's poetry was superb, his voice soft and caressing, making her ache for more. The night wore on and there was a hunger in both of them that would demand to be satisfied soon. A look at Virigl's eyes sent ripples of anticipation through her.   
  
When the last of the patrons left and the tavern was closed for the night, Gabrielle took out her key. Virgil's gentle hand was a hot question on her shoulder, answered as the door squeaked on its hinges. The darkness of the room emboldened her, and the words came at last – not voice or letter, but an outpouring of touch, bursting from Gabrielle with a ferocity she had not expected. She welcomed it, sobbing, awed, welcomed Virgil's gasped response and quickening caresses, the bitterness of her tears and the roughness of the sheets against her skin. His scent was fire in Gabrielle's lungs; it melted the last of the ice within her and dissolved all thoughts of loneliness into the deep, accepting breath of the night.   
  


* * *

  
  
It was difficult to see through the smoke. Dark, shapeless figures sprawled on the floor or reclined on long couches; Xena supposed most would have drunk themselves into oblivion by now. Slaves moved among the supine guests, drifting in and out of red haze like bog-spirits in steaming marshes. The haze scattered the music and hid the musicians from view. Disoriented, Xena felt her breaths come a little faster, adding to the gathering tension in her arm where she held the heavy pitcher.   
  
She stepped over the shape of a man, his toga pooled around his prostrate body to reveal skinny shoulders and calves. Xena's mouth thinned in disgust. For some reason he reminded her of Caesar, but she stamped out that image almost before it could form. Eve. She had to find her.   
  


* * *

  
  
"Your grace?"   
  
The sheer inappropriateness of the title startled Ares from his thoughts. He looked up to see a young slave boy proffering a gold tray. The tray was laden with a pile of soft white feathers, a few floating off, whirling in the stale air of the dining hall, heavy with the sounds of revelling Romans, thick with the stink of wine and pleasure herbs. Belatedly, Ares realised that he had taken his goblet with him to the private room at the back of the hall, where a few richly garbed men and women were making room for the next course of delicacies. He handed it to the boy without looking, pushing away the feathers. Gods did not need this aid to endless feasting – limited stomach capacity was not an issue.   
  
A heavyset woman in a bronze and purple number was making use of a feather nearby, purging herself from the last round of pheasant tongues and sturgeon livers. The sound was revolting, the smell worse. The slave boys, without raising their eyes, handed her a scented cloth to wipe her face. A stray drop of vomit fell from her lip, staining her tunic, but she was beyond noticing. Another slave helped her back into the hall, where someone caught her and settled her on a cushion.   
  
"Beg pardon, your grace, but does your grace wish to make ready for the next course?" The boy spoke up again timidly, obviously uncomfortable with Ares' long silence. The god shook himself and shrugged the boy off, pushing the feather away roughly – he could not remember why he had come here in the first place.   
  
He scowled inwardly. He liked a feast as much as the next god, but after a night in the company of barely-human mortals, he was starting to get a little bored. He considered an excursion – check on a battle or two, relax – but dismissed the idea. He had promised Livia to stay for the celebration of her triumph.   
  
Ah, Livia. Whatever Athena thought of her, Livia was a fun little thing – so much rage and rawness in such a slender frame. As far as mortals went, she was a decent specimen. She really did hold some promise as a commander – perhaps with a bit more training... She was certainly ruthless and determined, even if there was something immature about that determination, like she had something to prove. Not like Xena. Oh, no. Not even close.   
  
Ares turned on his heel and walked back into the swaying noise of the bacchanalia, heading for a pile of cushions to his left. Mild irritation brewed into fully fledged anger. It had been a mistake to think about Xena at all. Much as he hated to admit it, his desire to leave had been at least in part motivated by a desire – no, a need – to see the icy slopes of Aetna once more, pristine and cold, not a speck of dirt to sully what he preferred to think of as her shrine. Not her tomb.   
  


* * *

  
  
Xena stepped from body to body, faces emerging out of the smoke, ugly and distorted. She looked into each one, hoping and afraid to see Eve among them. The conscious ones were worst; they moved soundlessly, words drowned out by music, mouths gaping or drooping or kissing sloppily. Masks.   
  
A hand slid up her thigh, tugged at the thin fabric of her garments – Xena jerked sideways in distaste and realised it had been two people, a couple, half-naked on the floor. The man's watery face leered in invitation, a hand paused under his partner's skirt. The girl could not have been much older than twelve – couldn't be Eve, Xena noted – then realised, belatedly, that the girl's youth should have angered her, horrified her. Yet she could not suppress the sigh of relief as the haze hid them again. Not Eve.   
  
How could she find her among all these Roman faces? What if she wasn't here at all? A sudden panic gripped Xena, she fought it off like wounded men fight off the suffocating blanket of death. It was just the smoke, she thought, blinking to moisten her dry eyes. She'd find her, of course she'd find her.   
  
A movement in the corner of her vision made her turn around. More black-red shapes, no different to the ones around her, but Xena kept watching the spot... There! Again. Not quite right, a movement that did not belong here stood out from the drugged stupor. Purposeful. Someone else here was not completely under the languid spell of music and wine.   
  
Mindful of the revellers' bodies and of the occasional slave drifting between them, Xena moved towards the spot she had marked, her eyes never leaving it. Someone caught at her pitcher, she refilled the goblet without pausing, not caring that more wine splashed on the floor than in the cup. The angry rebuke died behind her as she stalked closer to the strange movement. Almost there...   
  
As if on command, the haze parted and Xena gulped an unexpected lungful of clean air. It threw her off-balance for an instant, her vision blackened and her head swam, she took another breath – and saw her daughter.   
  
Livia was leaning against a column, her head thrown back to drain a goblet of wine, the white of her face glistening with sweat. She was dressed in a long filmy tunic, folds of dark fabric clasped at the shoulder and below her breasts. The goblet was lowered slowly, the fine finger-bones shaking – Xena's breath shook with that hand – and then it happened. For a heartbeat, Livia's eyes met hers.   
  
Recognition stabbed.   
  
Xena almost cried out – then the smoke came back and ended it, hid the scene. Livia disappeared, all that remained was the harsh glitter of her jewelled brooches in the haze. Xena felt like a cold statue, unable to look away from those few points of light.   
  
Time swayed to the music, and it sickened her, made her stomach feel tight. Xena found herself groping for the old uncertainty, but it was lost to her now. All that remained was the bright flash of that face, unmistakably her daughter's – not the narrow line of cheekbone and jaw, but the eyes: the hunger, the emptiness... The anger.   
  
Xena closed her own eyes, then wrenched them open; she couldn't miss the next time the smoke cleared, the second glimpse of that face – and couldn't look.   
  
So this is what it felt like. She had found her child. A warrior. A killer. Bleak despair pulled Xena under, crept into her ears and mouth with the smoke, stung her eyes. She had found her child.   
  
She wished she had not.   
  
The thought broke through the despair, white-hot anger smashing its thin crust, crushing Xena's chest. No! She hadn't found her child, not yet. Not yet. But she would, by all the gods, she would find her child in Livia! Eve was there, had to be. She just had to get to Livia...   
  
It was then that the strange, sober movement she had noticed appeared again. Slow-motioned in the smoke, Xena turned her head, and a second hit, more forceful because she had no more support, drove the wind from her lungs. Another shape appeared in the shadows, sprawled on a pile of cushions. The top of a dark head and the broad shoulders of a man... or a god.   
  
Ares.   
  
Here. With Eve.   
  
Connections she didn't want to make splintered Xena's mind and lodged there, bleeding. The familiar flutter in her chest was a foreign, gut-wrenching thing.   
  
Without volition, Xena wrapped her fingers around the chakram hidden at her waist, palm folded over the thin blade, pressing too hard – far too hard, it would be either the hand or the weapon, human flesh no match for implacable steel – but it didn't matter, he was here, and Eve was here, and there was nothing else left to doubt.   
  
Someone was approaching him – the girl she had seen earlier, on the floor. The smoke no longer bothered Xena, she thought she could see clear through it, or maybe it was no longer there.   
  
It was like the end of a battle, a grey victory that was defeat, a wound so deep that it did not hurt. Xena looked dead ahead, at the scene before her eyes, the girl coming towards Ares and in the background, her daughter watching. She had always known it would be like this.   
  


* * *

  
  
Ares peered into the smoke for Livia, but his view was suddenly blocked. A young, pretty girl with hollow eyes staggered into his lap half-intentionally, giving him a glazed wink, grotesquely highlighted by heavy kohl. Her tunic was undone, small breasts spilling out into full view. Before he could push her off, he felt a jolt – and the girl lay in a heap on the floor, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, horribly white.   
  
"Whore!"   
  
The growl, screechy against the background noise, belonged to Livia. Her smoke-induced fantasies of possessing him were definitely putting a strain on their working relationship. The thought was scrambled momentarily while she claimed his mouth in a short, violent kiss, pushing his arms out of the way. He pulled away, revolted by her taste, wine and regurgitated food, mingled with blood from an old cut on her lip that had reopened without her noticing.   
  
"Ares..." she drawled, irritating him all the more, almost to breaking point. She sounded too much like Xena when she said his name. He was honest enough to admit that that was precisely what had drawn him to her initially: that voice, calling the God of War. How he had flown! If aether could burn, his wake would have been ashes. Xena! Back, back from the dead! In that split second, he did not question how this could be possible, he cared nothing for particulars – he obeyed the summons, like an instinct deeper than survival.   
  
But no. Not her.   
  
Just some gangly teenager with nothing going for her except those huge eyes, blue-bronze in the light of the temple torches – that, and the fact that she had been holding one of the temple guards at swordpoint. Oh, yeah.   
  
Teach me.   
  
How could he refuse?   
  
She had been a quick learner. He had always wondered what it would have been like to teach Xena at that age – she had been much older when he met her. Not a child by a long shot. Livia... Livia was industrious, but dull. A goody-goody rich kid rebelling against life in general. She'd study maps and weapons until her eyes closed of their own accord, and do it all again in the morning. He snorted. Livia, Champion of Rome, was a nerd.   
  
Just then, Livia leaned over to fix the cushions and settled herself beside him, treating Ares to a picturesque view of her cleavage. He smiled appreciatively and watched her preen, pleased at the response. Had she been Xena, he's be writhing on the floor in agony right now, god or no.   
  
What a joke. This little bird was nothing like the woman Xena had been. He forced himself to stop the comparisons.   
  
Livia took a sip of her wine, eyeing him over the rim of her goblet. He was amused by the transparent coquetry. She replaced the goblet into a slave's hand without taking her eyes off his. Ares inclined his head.   
  
"Victory is yours."   
  
Livia's lips stretched slowly. "My gratitude knows no bounds."   
  
He had to bite back a smart reply, recalling once again that this was not Xena teasing, this was Livia. And she was deadly serious. Poor girl.   
  
She eased herself closer to him, wrapping her slender arms around his neck, and leaned into his ear. Her breath was sour with wine. "Fuck me, Ares."   
  
Pathetic.   
  
Ares took her arms off him, one at a time. "Not in the mood."   
  
She pouted, disgusting him further. "You promised. Tonight! I've been waiting... You won't help me celebrate?"   
  
"I have." He decided he'd had enough. "But even you can't monopolise me forever, Livia," – especially not you, he added mentally – "There are wars to attend to."   
  
"All work and no play make Ares a dull god." She simpered insupportably, like a cheap tavern whore. He inched further from her sweat-damp body, feeling her slide down, losing her grip. Blind drunk. Had Xena ever been drunk? He'd never seen it.   
  
He grabbed a goblet and held it out behind him, trying to support Livia's light body with his free arm. Spiced wine should perk her up a bit. He couldn't stand the sight of her like this, no sense of control remaining, a sorry little mortal with those incredible eyes. "Hit me." He motioned with the goblet impatiently. Were the servants drunk too?   
  
"Don't tempt me."   
  
Shit.   
  
That voice. That voice.   
  
No.   
  
Yes!   
  
No - no, no, no, no. Shit, shit, shit. Not possible. Get a handle on yourself, you'll be sharing Livia's smoke-hallucinations next. Don't look up. But the voice!   
  
By Olympus itself, how could he have ever thought Livia sounded like her? No. Nothing sounded like her. His gut compressed into a point, terrified beyond emotion.   
  
She's right here. Wearing a veil for some reason – why? Doesn't matter. She's here, breathing right next to him, the pitcher in her arms shaking a little with each breath. Damn.   
  
He raised his eyes slowly. Past the gauzy dress, past the veil. Her jaw was clenched; there was death in her eyes. Uh-huh. Whatever was in that wine, it was strong. Strong enough to turn a god into a frightened half-wit. To Tartarus with the wine!   
  
He threw the goblet away. She kept looking at him over the veil, her lips invisible, fury radiating from her like a palpable heat. Of course – Livia! Ares pushed the girl off him roughly; her head lolled a bit, but she was too out of it to resist.   
  
Something flashed in her hand. A curved blade – her chakram!   
  
The sight of it shot through Ares' blood, awakening every fear, every urge, everything. For the first time in twenty-five years, he felt he could breathe. He rose, facing her, nearly gasped with another wave of recognition. It was her! How?   
  
The chakram flashed red. "If you were mortal," – the words came low and halting, like tearing flesh – "I'd cut out your heart."   
  
Could gods tremble?   
  
"Xena?" The voice was too small, not his. "How..." His mouth would not obey; his eyes took up all of his energy, watching that face... Alive. Xena was alive. Twenty-five years, and she was not a day older... or maybe, it hadn't been that long – but the cave, the ice...   
  
Ares caught the air, the smoke, almost enough to speak. "I ... mourned you." A spark of anger exploded into sudden fury in his chest. – "For years, I mourned you!"   
  
"Yes, you looked positively grief-stricken just now." Xena nodded at Livia's still form; she was gaping, a small rivulet of wine tracing a line from the corner of her mouth to her collarbone.   
  
"What, that? You're not jealous."   
  
"Of a Roman wannabe? Hardly." Her tone was icy, dead.   
  
"Well, you're right," Ares was surprised at how easily the words came now, how easy anger made them. Like finding a well-worn track. "She's not you."   
  
Of course not, no one could ever be her! Xena was dead. And now she wasn't. Now she stood there as if she had never died, and every old wound was torn, gaping naked before her. She had no right to do this! But even the anger was drowned by the gasping need to be sure... to know for sure.   
  
Why was she looking at him like that?   
  
Ares was peripherally aware that Livia swore, but that was his last thought of her – Xena moved in closer, dropping the pitcher and letting the wine spill out like blood, soaking into the carpets.   
  
Her scent, he could smell its warmth, its closeness. It was unbearably familiar, but he needed more, couldn't stop now... He reached for her waist, all in slow motion, afraid to break the spell. When she did not resist, he pulled down the veil, revealing her cheeks and lips. Her heart was thundering against his chest, her skin was so hot, too hot – he felt her breath brush his mouth as he drew her near, touching her lips...   
  
With dizzying suddenness, she pulled away.  
  
"You soulless bastard!"   
  
Her fist moved noiselessly; he staggered backwards. And there was the uppercut. No doubt about it – Xena was back. Ares clutched his jaw, but that was the least of his concerns. "Xena!"  
  
It was too late. She was gone, a flurry of movement that did not disturb a single drunken body on the floor. He had lost her again. Again!  
  
Why?  
  
"Ares..." Livia was trying to rouse herself from the stupor. "Wh...th..." She dropped onto a cushion clumsily, her blue-bronze eyes fluttering shut. Those eyes.   
  
Those eyes!  
  
And in that moment, Ares' whole universe executed a perfect backwards somersault and landed on its spine. He knew why. And he knew, with a certainty that reminded him what divinity meant, that this time, he had lost not only her. He had lost it all.   
  
Ares swivelled his body around violently and, for the first time in his long, long life, threw up.   
  
  
  


Time Out Of Joint

  
  


_The time is out of joint – oh cursed spite,  
  
That I was ever born to set it right._   
  
Shakespeare, "Hamlet"

  
  
  
  
Virgil propped himself up on one elbow and watched as Gabrielle opened her eyes next to him and smiled, stretching under the covers. Dust motes sparkled in the slices of sunlight which fell through the shutters, marking glowing stripes across the bed and across Gabrielle's face. Her hair was pressed into the pillow like a halo of gold thread, lit into something almost divine.   
  
He wanted to remember her like this: the woman who believed in him, who had a gift far greater than his own and yet did not dismiss his work as the fumblings of a child or the laziness of a man shirking responsibilities at home. Gabrielle had listened to his poetry – appreciative, curious, asking questions he hadn't thought to ask himself – then read some of her own, taking his breath away. Later, entwined in each other with no breath left for poetry, they had turned lovemaking into another expression, their bodies speaking as freely as their voices had done.   
  
Gabrielle wrinkled her nose against the brightness, squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again – and then she was human once more, and wonderfully close. Virgil cupped the curve of her small shoulder in his hand, then drew his fingers gently across her collarbone and her breasts, pushing the covers over the slightly swollen nipples and down to her waist.   
  
In the gold stripes of sunlight, long strings of words danced on Gabrielle's skin, inked across her chest and abdomen. With a twinge of desire, Virgil knew they continued lower, to her hips and thighs, then broke off, only to pick up again on his own chest and arms and back. They had started writing when the night had faded from black to a smoky grey, laughing at the scratch and tickle of quill against skin, as if the night had freed them both.   
  
Gabrielle looked down at herself, then at Virgil's similarly decorated torso. Her eyes twinkled. "Not much room left."   
  
"No," he confirmed, slipping his hand over her waist and drawing her close. "But we don't need much room."   
  
Gabrielle's small body stiffened against his. Virgil released her immediately, afraid he had offended her somehow.   
  
"Virgil," she began carefully, moving her face back a little to watch his, "I had a wonderful night..."   
  
He stopped her with a gentle finger to her lips. "So did I," he said. "Last night, when I came here to write, I thought it would be the last time... I thought that maybe my family was right, that maybe it really was just childish silliness – but now..." He paused, outlining the shape of Gabrielle's mouth with his fingertip. She met it with a quick dart of her tongue, a playful shock to his nerves.   
  
"But now?" she prompted.   
  
He smiled. "Now I know better. I could never thank you enough."   
  
"You'll finish the poem?"   
  
Virgil inclined his head, a promise. Gabrielle acknowledged it, putting her hands on his shoulders as Virgil untangled himself from the sheets. "You better," she threatened. "I'll be listening for minstrels singing it."   
  
He bent to kiss her one last time. Her mouth opened to his, and no good-byes were needed. They hugged fiercely, once, and then Virgil was putting on his clothes and heading out the door.   
  
He became aware that the writing on his arms and chest was visible around his vest, but it was suddenly funny and he found himself grinning at curious passers-by. He remembered a conversation he'd had with his father once, years before his death.   
  
"If you want to write, boy," his father had said, amusing Virgil with his seriousness, "the writing's got to be a part of you." – "Part of me?" – "Yeah. That's what Gabrielle used to say." But then his mother had scowled at the mention of the name, and said "Joxer..." in a warning tone that put an end to the conversation. His father had spoken no more about the woman, whoever she had been, and Virgil had never asked.   
  
He glanced at the words on his arms – the writing really was a part of him, it seemed to have poured from his heart to his skin. It struck Virgil as exquisitely ironic that it had been his own Gabrielle who had reminded him of his father's advice and had turned it into reality.   
  
Gabrielle. He liked the sound of the name. You couldn't say it without smiling – which Virgil did, walking a little faster through the greyish morning. He wanted to be home quickly, to write.   
  


* * *

  
  
Xena could not recall how she got out of the palace, or how she made it back across the square to retrieve her cloak. She only knew that she must have done it, and quickly, because the cloak was whipping around her shoulders as she ran through the streets, and the air was still dark.   
  
She stopped only when she found she had reached the Tarpeian rock, jutting out from the Capitoline cliffs. A thin line of blue steel on the horizon was already encroaching on the blackness. The world dropped away abruptly at her feet, onto a tumble of jagged rocks and bleached bones far below, where generations of criminals and rebels had met their end.   
  
Cold drizzle stung her face. She hunched her shoulders into the cloak and remembered the last time she had done that. After Solan's death. She didn't want to remember that time, it seemed so ancient now. Screaming her grief on a snow-covered mountain peak, and Ares beside her, urging her to kill Gabrielle... Snow. There had been snow all around back then, but the dawn of this damp spring morning seemed no warmer than the mountain's blazing chill.   
  
There would be no more Illusia. Twenty-five years had dropped away, like pebbles skittering down the cliff-face from under her Roman sandals. Years which Ares had spent turning their daughter into what Xena would never be for him.   
  
She looked down.   
  
She felt dizzy, lurched backwards from the edge and sank down on all fours. Gravel dug into her skin cruelly, slicing through the servant's dress, and a screaming pain seared her right hand. Xena jerked it off the ground and sat, staring numbly at the cut on her palm. Her chakram. She had squeezed the blade too hard and the blood now welled into the cup of her hand, mingling with dust and bits of rock. It wasn't deep but bled profusely, ruby tears falling freely into the dust. Xena made a fist and let them fall, gritting her teeth against the pain.   
  
Dawn echoed purple from the rocks below. It could all end here – but it would solve nothing. No, Eve would still be Ares' ... something. Something that did not bear thinking about, so Xena dropped the thought and tried again. Nothing came. No solutions, plans, no answers. Her body rejected reality – even her breasts still swelled slightly under the cloak, hurting with milk for her baby... Only there was no baby. Just an empty space in her arms, cradling a dirty, slowly bleeding cut.   
  
A worm of a thought crawled through Xena's mind. Guilt. A feeling familiar like the rain on her skin or the receding pain in her hand. How many times had she silently resented Eve's night-time feeds? Or the thin cries which refused to be silenced, no matter what Xena tried? Or the changes in her own body?   
  
I didn't love her enough.   
  
Xena fought the thoughts half-heartedly. This was going nowhere. She saw Ares' face again, the way shock had splashed over it when he'd seen her at the bacchanalia. Was all this his fault? Or hers? How could she have trusted him with her baby's life, counted on him to save Eve when she couldn't? Motherhood must have addled her brains.   
  
Ares had just done what he always did; took in the situation and made a few changes. Enough to take control. With sickening clarity, Xena saw it his way. A child of his own blood, even a mortal one, was a powerful tool. A warrior queen who would be intensely loyal, would never defy him the way Xena had done, would share his goals – and his bed. His own child! But what did it matter, to a god? Now he had everything he'd ever wanted. And she had allowed it to happen.   
  
"You gotta tell me what happened."   
  
She flew to her feet, whirled around.   
  
Ares stood a few paces away, the flash of his appearance dissolving blue against the sky. Xena took a step backwards, more shaken by her inability to sense him than she cared to admit. It was like seeing a ghost. Her mind arranged the picture of him: the short black hair; the guarded dark eyes; the long fingers curling over the hilt of his sword, the silver on black leather... He probably thought he looked composed, but his mouth betrayed him; there were reddish marks on his full lips, as though he had bitten them.   
  
For an instant Xena's heart hovered in weightlessness, then dropped. "Ares."   
  
"See, I thought you were dead."   
  
His sarcasm split something raw and Xena did not know what she wanted more: to hurt him, or to touch him. In this alien world, he was the same. The deep resonance of his voice, at the base of her skull and deeper, dispelled all notions of ghosts – no, this was Ares all right. Without warning, rage flooded back, filling her, drawing her mouth into the snarl of a wounded animal. He had mutilated Eve's life. Nothing else mattered.   
  
"I am dead. I died the day you turned my daughter into your warrior whore."   
  
The sarcasm crumbled into a stricken look on Ares' absurdly perfect features, a face that had not changed a jot in the intervening years. It felt good to see him hurt. He took a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring a little – "I didn't know." He swallowed, "We didn't ... I ... Xena, I swear, I didn't know."   
  
Xena tensed her body, treading lightly towards him across the gravel, as if she was all right, not falling apart inside. "Didn't know what, Ares? That I'd be back to foil your plans? That I wouldn't let you corrupt my daughter the way you did me?"   
  
"That Livia was – is – Eve." He tried to reach her hand; Xena snatched it back. "You got the wrong idea, Xena," his voice rose in defiance, "I never touched her!" He dropped his hand, and Xena looked despite herself. His fingers were shaking. Ares clenched them into a fist. "She's not my lover. Believe me."   
  
Something was wound tightly in his searching face; to her astonishment, Xena found she did believe him. Or perhaps she just wanted to believe him... But she knew him too well not to notice the tension lines around his mouth, not to see how badly shaken he was. Dangerous relief washed over her. She clamped it down, remembering the victory parade – and the slaves brought in as spoils. He didn't need to sleep with a warrior to corrupt her. Bile rose at her own bitter memories.   
  
"What did you promise her? What did it take, to turn her into your little warrior queen?" Xena looked away, past him. "How much power?"   
  
"She's not."   
  
Her eyes flashed back to where Ares stood. "I don't believe you."   
  
Frustration strained his voice, "I told you – I didn't know she was our daughter! I thought you were dead, dammit! All of you!"   
  
In the silence that followed, two thoughts sliced into Xena's mind. The first, a memory of Lao Hsu's tiny form in the flames, the body Ares must have taken to be Eve's. Dully, she realised why he had never suspected Livia's true identity. And the second thought – that had he known that Livia was Eve...   
  
"And if you had known she was your daughter?" she looked at him in resignation. "You would have made her your warrior queen. Princess."   
  
Ares set his jaw. "I might've tried harder."   
  
Xena continued looking at him, numbly aware that the rain had stopped, and the sky behind him was no longer black, but the colour of ash. Ares' brows were heavy over his eyes, and his body as taut as her own, as though he wanted at once to reach forward and to shrink away.   
  
"If I'd known she was our daughter, she would've had the best of everything, Xena. The world at her command." He spoke so quietly that Xena found herself taking another step forward to hear him. With detached surprise, she felt him raise the back of his hand to her cheek, warm against her wind-chilled skin. "She still can."   
  
He moved his hand lower, to the curve of her jaw, barely even a touch. Xena began to shake. "Ares... I'm going to save her."   
  
"From what – from me?" He stroked her neck and threaded his hand through her thick hair. Then he dropped his hand. "I don't think so. You saw her, Xena. She's exactly where she wants to be."   
  
"In Rome!" Xena pulled away, her voice breaking. "I saw the slaves; she's a monster!"   
  
"A warrior," Ares corrected, then the corners of his mouth tightened. "She takes after her parents. What did you expect – a Hestian virgin?"   
  
"I'll tell you what I expected," Xena heard the shrill note of hysteria in her voice – "I expected to raise her myself! To show her a way beyond the violence..."   
  
"So go ahead."   
  
She felt the words bodily, like a blow. She stared at Ares. "You're letting me take her away? But she's one of your warriors..."   
  
"So are you." He shrugged nonchalantly, but his gaze was too intense, holding hers. "I've missed you, Xena. For twenty-five years I've wanted you back – to see you in battle again, fighting beside me. To have things the way they were before..."   
  
"That's changed," Xena said, but did not move when Ares took her hands. There was a peculiar tenderness in the gesture, a sort of warmth.   
  
"That's right, it's changed. There is no going back; Eve has seen to that. So let's move on." He brought his hand to his lips, and Xena shook so badly that she thought she would fall. "Join with me, Xena. I'll take you and Eve someplace safe, away from Rome. I swear, I won't disappoint you. All I'm asking is your word that we'll be together – and Eve is yours. You'll be her mother again. I can make it happen."   
  
"I see." She snapped back from him. "You'll give me back my broken dolly if I promise to fuck you?" Xena fought a wave of nausea. "To think that I had your child, Ares," she spat – "that sickens me!"   
  
She watched his lips part incredulously, heard the soft exhaled air leave his lungs. There was no blood. Then she turned and fled, her cloak brushing past him, snapping as she ran downhill. Ares didn't try to stop her.   
  
At the foot of the hill, she glanced up. His figure was black on the ashes of the sky, alone and unmoving as the rocks he stood on. Xena felt a new resolve steel her. Darkness would not claim her baby forever. Not if she could help it.   
  


* * *

  
  
By the time the front door of the inn slammed behind her, Xena was at the top of the stairs.   
  
"Gabrielle!" She tried the room door, but it was locked. She had to be in, she promised she'd be waiting – "Gabrielle, come on, there's no time!" She'd have to tell her everything, and it would hurt again, but everything would work out in the end, now that she had a plan... Livia would be in Ares' temple before going on campaign, she'd have to be – but she'd leave to join her army soon – no time, no time...   
  
"Xena?"   
  
A strip of morning light expanded into a white rectangle of the doorway, Gabrielle's figure silhouetted in the brighter room. She was clutching a sheet to herself. "Uh... give me a minute."   
  
"We've got to hurry!" Xena came inside, blinking in the glare – then saw the writing.   
  
It was everywhere. On Gabrielle's shoulders, chest, arms – inked characters disappeared under the sheet and reappeared on the other side, crisscrossing her like layers of parchment. Xena's eyes slid to the bed, she took in the rumpled sheets and the half-empty inkwell on the floor, a broken quill dripping blue beside it. The room smelled of wine and sex.   
  
She looked back to Gabrielle. The sheet was marked blue where she was clutching it, there were blue streaks on her forehead and in her sleep-tousled hair. The sight reminded Xena of someone she had met in her pirating days, a boy whose skin had been tattooed all over in a spidery testimony to his own stupidity.   
  
"Well, are you going to tell me?" Xena's voice refused the intended humour; the words came out as an impatient rebuke.   
  
Gabrielle's face wavered in an uncertain smile. "Ran out of parchment." The smile died at Xena's hard expression. "It doesn't matter. I'll be ready in a minute, just ... wait."   
  
"Gabrielle, I can't wait, there's no time to lose..."   
  
"You can't wait?!"   
  
Gabrielle's outburst threw Xena off-balance, she froze where she stood.   
  
"You can't wait!" the bard repeated, louder, advancing. "And I can? Because none of this concerns me, right?! Because Eve isn't my daughter, so I can just wait until you need me for some plan of yours – to mind your sword or whatever else you happen to need?"   
  
Xena rocked back, stunned past all anger. No. No, not now. She couldn't handle it now, not when Eve was Livia and Ares was back, and Rome was crushing her with its weight. She searched Gabrielle's face for a hint of the understanding she had been expecting, but it was hard and closed, lips drawn painfully thin.   
  
"What's the matter?" Xena said, lamely, knowing that it would only make things worse.   
  
Gabrielle reached under the bed with her foot and slid Xena's sword towards herself, flipping it into her hand. She shoved it towards Xena. The scabbard and armour followed. Xena took everything wordlessly.   
  
"Get out," Gabrielle said. "Get out, and let me get dressed, then we can go and do whatever it is you've decided to do without so much as asking what I thought."   
  
Something snapped inside Xena. "Thought? Doesn't look like you've been having many of those last night! Or have you learned to write poetry on your own back?" She gestured with her chin. "It's quite a piece of work – you could sell tickets!"   
  
Gabrielle flushed an angry scarlet. "You sound like Ares."   
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"   
  
Gabrielle laughed, a bitter sound. "You saw him, didn't you? Last night, you saw him!" Then, before Xena could deny it, "I don't recall you doing much thinking when you decided he'd make the perfect daddy for your child!"   
  
Xena felt the blood rush from her face. You had to hand it Gabrielle. She didn't hit often, but she rarely missed. It was that carriage all over again – the one she and Gabrielle had pushed off the cliff before their world fell apart... Hurtling out of control into an abyss, far too late to stop now. She hit back. "How about whoever you were with last night? Would he make a good daddy for your child, if you have one? Or did you not think of that?"   
  
Silence. Gabrielle remained where she was, breathing heavily, clutching at the sheet. Xena thought she had seen her look like that before – of course... Before Illusia. When she had tried to kill Gabrielle.   
  
Shame flooded her heart. Not again. Please, anything but this... She could not lose Gabrielle again. But she had done it now, it was like waiting for an arrow to strike – and then she'd be alone. The panic at having done something irreversible rose in Xena's throat, she wanted to call the words back, but could not find the breath.   
  
Gabrielle did not scream. She said, very quietly, "No."   
  
For a moment, it made no sense. "No?"   
  
"No," she said again, just as quietly. "I didn't think of that."   
  
Xena remembered the way the wheels of that runaway cart had spun in the air, a second before it fell. "Didn't think of what?"   
  
"Getting pregnant," Gabrielle said, just as quietly. "Because I can't."   
  
"Can't think?" Xena said before she could catch herself – that's not what she means! – and then, the idiotic mistake broke through the tension, suddenly the last straw for both of them to cling to. "I mean..."   
  
The corners of Gabrielle's lips quirked slightly, against her will – and then she burst into laughter. Hysterical, Xena laughed too, gulping shattered half-breaths – all the poison of grief and helplessness and loneliness had finally collected itself and burst from its own pressure, and though it would hurt worse than before for a little while, eventually, it would heal.   
  
The laughter drifted away, and Xena was struck with how ludicrous the whole scene was. Gabrielle with her inked-over skin and tatty sheet – and her own servant's dress under the cloak, stained with mud and torn where the rocks had snagged at it. Evidently, the same thing had occurred to Gabrielle, because she reached out and fingered a corner of a scarf at Xena's waist, studying it with far more attention than it deserved.   
  
Xena swallowed and took Gabrielle's elbows, forcing herself to say the obvious. "How long...?"   
  
Gabrielle raised her eyes. "Since Hope." She smiled slightly, with the infinite sadness of someone who wished she could grieve. "When she was born ... She'd grown too fast, and I ... bled. Badly. But then it stopped. Eventually, so did the pain. With everything that happened, it seemed hardly surprising. Then later, in India... The physician asked me what manner of man tortured me so, to tear me up inside. She said there were scars, too many scars for my body to heal right. Too many to hold a child."   
  
"You never told me," Xena breathed, dismayed. "You never said a word, not even when Eve was born."   
  
Gabrielle's face was almost tranquil. "I was afraid to talk about it at first. Then, later, it was a kind of... consolation. A promise that there could never be another Hope. When things got really bad, I'd remember that, and it helped me, somehow."   
  
Xena stared at her in appalled silence. Gabrielle... And she had never suspected, never asked!   
  
Gabrielle bit her lip, looking at the floor between herself and Xena. "When you told me you were going to have a baby, I thought ... I thought we'd bring her up together. That it would be a second chance – for both of us."   
  
Guilt assailed Xena. Ares may be her father, but Eve will never be his. She is yours and mine, Gabrielle. Our daughter. She hadn't made good on her word, she'd been so wrapped up in Eve, in everything that she had missed with Solan – and she didn't want to think about Hope, couldn't bear to face those memories... No wonder Gabrielle had never told her! Was it too late?   
  
"Xena, I'm so sorry."   
  
Xena flinched at the honesty in those words. "No – you have nothing to apologise for, I'm the one who..."   
  
Gabrielle put a finger to Xena's lips. "I do. I resented Eve for coming between us, but it was so stupid. I was stupid. You mean more to me than anything in the whole world, and I let you suffer all this alone – what does that make me?"   
  
"Human?" Xena said awkwardly, as a huge weight lifted from her chest.   
  
Gabrielle sobbed, shaking her head, but her eyes were peaceful, as though a fever had broken. Xena drew her close, holding her, afraid to let go.   
  
"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "So sorry." She breathed deeply, inhaling Gabrielle's closeness, the smell of her hair, almost broken by the strength of her answering embrace. Only now did she realise just much she had missed this, how badly she needed to have Gabrielle beside her – and how badly Gabrielle needed her support, too. She'd been so selfish...   
  
"I promise," Xena said, planting a kiss on the top of Gabrielle's head, "I'll never let Eve, or anyone else come between us." She wanted to add something, something that would tell Gabrielle that she understood how much she had sacrificed by choosing this life, how dearly she had paid for their friendship, to promise that it was not in vain, but all she could manage was – "I'll stand by you. Always."   
  
Gabrielle looked up, narrowing her eyes. "You won't try to carry the whole world on your shoulders? 'Cause I've got shoulders, too, you know."   
  
"I know." Xena held Gabrielle at an arm's length, pretending to consider it. "Then again, with scrawny little shoulders like that..."   
  
"Oh-ho, watch it, Warrior Princess, or you just might get your ass kicked all the way to India!"   
  
Xena grimaced in mock fear, letting Gabrielle extricate herself. Gabrielle nodded sharply. "Let's get your daughter back."   
  
Eve... The events of the night finally caught up with Xena, her knees buckled. She stumbled forward, past Gabrielle's gentle hands, and leaned on the windowsill. What a crazy night. Beyond the shutters, the narrow lane bustled with awakening life. A woman's voice, berating her daughter for not hanging our the washing – Don't you take that tone with me, young lady, I'm your mother! – but the girl wasn't listening. I'm your mother, Eve...   
  
Xena took a long breath. "No. Our daughter."   
  
Gabrielle came to join her by the window and laid a warm hand across Xena's arm. "Let's hear the plan, then."   
  


* * *

  
  
Ares appeared on a river bank in the woods outside Rome, his arrival startling a flock of sparrows into the sky. The place practically shouted that it was spring; it was everywhere, in the smell of sticky new leaves, in the relentless noise of birds, in the rush of the swollen stream. The water was clear here, although it turned turbid where it flowed into the Tiber further on – but Ares wasn't interested in the scenery.   
  
He unbuckled his sword belt and yanked off his gauntlets, then, quickly, the remainder of his clothing. The bundle landed in the bushes. He waded into the water until the surface tickled his chest and arms, and he was stepping on soft silt. Broken morning light danced on green water. He stood, teeth clenched, naked and vulnerable like a mortal. Just like Xena.   
  
He should have known better than to offer to help. She blamed him for Eve.   
  
The water was unbearably cold, numbing his skin. It felt good, but the cold wasn't deep enough; he could still feel Xena's eyes on him, the revulsion in her face. Ares ducked his head under, trying to get rid of the lingering, sickening taste of Livia's wine-laden kiss, of the memory of her crumpled body on the couch, stretched out in drugged oblivion. His daughter! Xena's words scored his mind. It sickens me... He brought his face back up and stood stock still, willing the current to flow faster, to wash everything away. The air was sharp on his wet skin. Twenty-five years. He'd seen his daughter's death – so how could he have known that she was alive? That whatever he had seen burning had not been Eve's body?   
  
How could he have not known?   
  
Xena should have told him! Ares punched the water, sending a spray of droplets into the air. Why hadn't she let him take Eve away, instead of getting her involved in whatever the ill-fated plan had been? All those wasted years! The thought exploded in a watershed of rage, shattering the sounds of the forest in a cacophony of frightened creatures.   
  
Silence returned. Reluctantly, Ares let the cold water calm him. He could not remember when he'd discovered it could do that, only that it was sometime after he buried Xena... The warm pools of Olympus had become revolting after that. Every time he'd try to immerse himself in their steaming, nectar-scented water, he could think only of Xena – purpled and lifeless, encased in ice – and no matter how good the wine, how attractive and willing the company, he could not bring himself to stay there. He'd seen more of the mortal world in the last twenty-five years than in all the previous millennia combined. It wasn't a pretty sight.   
  
Now she was back, and she'd rejected him again. He'd tried to help, and she rejected him. She really hadn't changed a bit.   
  
But dammit, he had! Why did she never believe him? He really was ready to give up Livia, all the plans he had for her, ready to confirm every word of Xena's story, even the parts he still wasn't too sure about, until their daughter became what Xena wanted her to be. He'd made the offer and he would keep his word, because there wasn't any more time to waste! How could she not see that? But no, the mere thought of being with him sickened her now! A rush of air tore from Ares' lungs, making him grit his teeth uselessly.   
  
All right, he'd missed her. The world was deserted without her. The Fates knew, he'd had time enough for the whole seven-step mourning thing: numbness, denial, anger, lust for vengeance, despair, comprehension, acceptance... He'd managed to collect the whole set several times over. Except acceptance.   
  
He wanted to punch the water again, to hit something, but let his fist drop, instead catching one of the tiny fish that kept flashing around him. It thrashed in his cupped hands as he brought it out of the water, cold rivulets running through his fingers. Finally it became still; only the pumping of its gills, frantic and futile, proved that it lived. Soon it, too, ceased. Disgusted, he flung the slimy creature back into the water. It floated for a moment – then its gills moved again and, with a flick of its tailfin, it disappeared below the surface.   
  
It was a mortal, that fish. It had a will to survive, a deep-rooted instinct that made every mortal's life a useless struggle for immortality.   
  
Except Xena's. Ares had lost count of the number of times she'd refused a chance to live forever. But even Xena had wanted it once, back when she'd embraced the primal within herself, honing her instincts instead of trampling them down. Immortality. The ultimate survival, an instinct deeper than desire, deeper than will – try as she might, even Xena could not erase it from her soul. Her awakening was proof enough of that.   
  
Brightening a little, Ares regrouped his thoughts, beginning to see the new battle plan.   
  
He was looking at things like a mortal. What he had to do was step back, take the god's eye view – which, come to think of it, wasn't all that grim. Xena was back, and he had a fully grown daughter who was more than competent with a sword and an army. A daughter, moreover, who was devoted to him, and was about to go to war in his name. Admittedly, so was her opponent, but that minor problem could be taken care of later. The important thing was that Xena wasn't keen on the idea. She wanted to take Eve away from the battlefield, and from him. Again.   
  
Eve... Despite himself, Ares recalled the soft little baby he had held in his arms, her milky scent and gummy, childish smiles. Little Eve, and Livia. There was no link there, no connection. He could no longer see Livia as just one of his warriors, but neither was she that baby he had mourned with every fibre of his being, with every nightmare and scream on the battlefield, for years... No. Xena wasn't going to do this again. He wasn't going to bury either of them again, ever.   
  
She wanted to get to Livia, tell her the whole implausible truth. Maybe she really expected the Champion of Rome to collapse into her arms, crying "Mummy!" – as though all those years had meant as little to her as they had to Xena. Well, he knew Livia. It wasn't going to happen. Whether or not she realised it, Livia was Roman to the core; her curiosity might make her listen to Xena's story of ice caves and missing babies, but her Roman pragmatism would win out in the end. She wouldn't believe it, not without evidence or the testimony of a witness she trusted. And that's where the God of War came in.   
  
Xena needed him. She would see it eventually, and she would come to him for help.   
  
Ares looked up at the grey-blue forest sky and felt suddenly dizzy with the depth of it. It seemed to go on forever. And yet he knew in a detached sort of way that it, too, ended, and other realms too strange for his knowledge began beyond it, and probably ended, too. Eternity was an illusion. It was a terrifying thought. It made Ares feel smaller somehow, insignificant; the sensation was a little too close to mortality. It reminded him yet again of way Xena had looked in the ice casket. There was a time he would have gladly parted with his own immortality just to be able to think about her like this – present and future, instead of forever in the past.   
  
He looked back to the light on the water's choppy surface and made a decision. He'd waited long enough for a second chance. Now that he had it, he wasn't going to let it go, not without a fight. Xena didn't want their daughter at the head of an army, even a truly great army – fine. He didn't understand it, but he could live with it. He'd even help her. But if he was going to make sacrifices to her frostbitten principles, he deserved something in return. In fact it could be a win-win situation, if Xena could be persuaded to see it his way. Of course, persuading Xena to see things his way was always the tricky part, but this time the odds were definitely in his favour: Livia already did.   
  
Abandoning the mortal charade, Ares emerged from the water fully clothed and walked directly into the aether.   
  
  
  


Semra

  
  


_"Mother," she whispered in awe. As she walked down the path, the light at its end got stronger, more compelling. Finally it became so blinding she had to close her eyes. Heat struck her face as though she was standing under the strong sun of a southern land. "Daughter," a woman's voice said, and warm strong hands grasped hers._   
  
Sara Douglass, "The Wayfarer Redemption"

  
  
  
  
The main hall of the temple of Mars was decorated with wreaths and draped in rich tapestries. The smell of exotic spices sacrificed in honour of her victories hung limp in the air, swirling blue-grey in the torchlight. It was still early and the temple was deserted and silent, except for the occasional dull splat of hot tar from a torch onto the stone below.   
  
Livia stood in the doorway, swaying, one hand on the hilt of her sword. The temple hall appeared to move rhythmically, fluctuating in time with her laboured breathing. She waited for it to settle into the familiar immovable marble she had known these past few years. Her eyes watered from the smoke. She wiped at her face with one sleeve and realised that her robe was stained and torn open. She shivered. Despite all the torches, this place was cold. Had it been this cold when she had first called to him here? She could not remember. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had stood in this same doorway, hesitating.   
  
Her plan had been simple back then: take out the guard, enter the temple. She had not thought past that point, so when it all happened so quickly, the guard on the floor and the tip of her sword at his neck, she had hesitated. How did one request the aid of a god? She had not known, but the guard had started to show signs of recovering, she'd had no time to waste. How to call him?   
  
She had thought back to her early childhood then, sneaking into the library and reading for hours. She had been surprised and annoyed to discover that so many of the things she loved about Rome, her homeland, her life, were not Roman in the least. Even most of the gods were apparently Greek. So she had called him by his Greek name, hoping to distinguish herself from the countless others who, no doubt, were calling to him at that very moment everywhere in the vast lands of her home. "Ares!"   
  
And it had worked, none more stunned than she. He had appeared to her, his entrance announced by a flash of violet light, brilliant enough in the dim temple to nearly blind her.   
  
So. Livia the orphan, Livia, Fortuna's little present for Augustus, Livia the millstone around everyone's necks – she was worth something yet, to be granted an audience with a god! With Ares' tutelage, she would be a true warrior, awesome in her glory. She would cleanse the fatherland of the weaklings and the parasites, those who would not pay the tribute due to the land that supported them, those who would not have been tolerated in Ceasar's time. She would become Livia, Champion of Rome – and by all the gods and by Ares himself, she would make Rome great again!   
  
What a fool she had been.   
  
Livia blocked out the memories with a wordless scream that tore its way from her gut to her mouth, scalding her throat. She ran to the centre of the hall and swung the weapon in a wide arc, putting the full force of her rage behind it. She was Livia, Champion of Rome, Ares himself had spent the feast in her company – a god! And who was she, that mockery of a servant – hiding behind a veil! Cowardly slut!   
  
Who was she, to take him away from her, to make him leave on the very night that should have been her own?   
  
Livia's sword slashed at random, through countless smouldering incense sticks that exploded in showers of orange sparks, through tapestries that depicted battle after glorious battle. The blade stuck on a patch of worked gold thread and Livia paused, breathing hard. She had been waiting for this, for Ares to make her truly his own, a hero with her god at her side! She yanked the sword back, hating the uselessness of the beautiful blade, despising herself for not having run that bitch through when she'd had the chance.   
  
She had fought hard, won her way to the top, growing stronger with every battle, every victory. She was not some spoilt little rich girl, no matter how her former mentors and guardians would cluck at the mention of her name. When had it ever been easy for her? Never! She had bled for every step of the way! Every damn step!   
  
Finally, she had succeeded in subduing the grumbling provinces, even made new conquests. She was feared, and she was admired. Livia, Champion of Rome! And now, she would become Empress – even if it meant marrying her ageing patron. She stretched her lips cruelly – what a tragedy it would be when Augustus succumbed to old age before his time. Terrible. She smiled outright, sword poised in mid-air. Many, many peasants in the provinces would have recognised that brief smile. Such a pity they could not see it in the Underworld!   
  
Livia brought her sword down with shattering force into the carved woodwork of a bench, splintering the seat into two. She deserved to be Empress! None loved Rome more than she – and she would have it. Ares would make sure of that.   
  
Wouldn't he?   
  
The sword dropped with a clang, and Livia sank onto the splintered remains of the bench, running her fingers through her hair, feeling for the first time in days how dirty it was. She tried to collect her thoughts through the fog of pleasure herbs and wine. Who was the woman? Not a slave – no collar, no mark. Besides, her bearing had not been that of a servant or a slave. She had moved almost like ... like a warrior.   
  
Livia felt a lump in her throat at the memory of Ares' face lighting up at the sight of the woman, the way it did sometimes when she'd win a brilliant battle. But then, something else. Something had happened between the two of them, something that had excluded her entirely. Livia wished she could have heard their quiet exchange, or seen something more than their silhouettes in the smoke and the flash of Ares' abrupt disappearance.   
  
And their kiss.   
  
She ground her fists into the splintered wood around her, until she could feel her knuckles bleed. That bitch! How dare she try to take Ares away from her while she still had use for him?   
  
Livia raised her hands and studied her palms. Every one of those calluses had been earned. She had told Ares that she'd done it in his name; she had told Augustus the same thing. Bullshit. It was her name that was whispered through the territories, her name that was screamed by soldiers in the fury of battle. Livia! She had done it all in her name. What could a god know of that? The perfect satisfaction when she could feel her sword striking true, feel it with every fibre of her body; the awe in the eyes of others – fear and love in equal measure, more intoxicating by far than the finest wine.   
  
Suddenly, Livia felt strong hands grab her wrists, twist them behind her, holding her immobile. She struggled uselessly. Fool! To drop her sword like that, leave herself open to attack. She tried to twist her face about to see the attacker, but she was held tight.   
  
"I'm sorry."   
  
For a few seconds the phrase did not register. But the voice did – her! The whore from the feast! Livia began to struggle once again. Then the meaning of her words sank in. Sorry? Oh, she would be!   
  
Livia slumped down against the woman, feigning unconsciousness, acutely aware of the distance between her right foot and the sword hilt on the floor. Just a little more. A finger's breadth. Livia allowed her body to slip lower, the woman's arm supporting it for some reason. What did she want?   
  
"Eve."   
  
Who? Livia's mind sought a connection. She felt her toe touch the hilt of the weapon on the floor and concentrated her whole awareness on the contact. Just a bit more, a little way – enough to gain some leverage. Come on!   
  
"Eve..." The woman's voice was soft, the words barely brushing the edge of Livia's hearing. The sword moved a little, guided into position. "I know you can't hear me – I'm so sorry I had to do that to you..." With a shock, Livia felt the woman release her grip, the hands weak and useless about her. She fought to maintain the pretense of unconsciousness. "Eve, sweetheart ... my baby ..."   
  
What baby? Livia struggled to throw off the miasma of herbs. Think, think, think. Baby. Had she lost a baby? One of the peasants, with a brat killed in a raid? Could well be.   
  
The sword moved another inch. That's it!   
  
A savage roar filled the temple, reverberated off walls and pillars of black marble; Livia flipped the sword into her hand, balancing it, jumped up and snarled at the woman behind her. The woman sat in a squat, her black hair no longer coiffed but tangled about her face. With the veil gone, Livia saw that she was older than she'd expected, perhaps in her mid-thirties – but obviously Ares thought her young and attractive enough.   
  
"I don't know who you are, and I don't care! How dare you intrude on the Champion of Rome?"   
  
When the woman merely continued looking up at her, Livia felt a growing sense of unease. Those eyes... And Eve. Who the hell was Eve?   
  
"I am Livia! Champion of Rome!" She despised the tremor in her voice. How could this ... this nothing, this peasant in a slave's dress – how could she get to her?   
  
To Livia's astonishment, the woman rose lithely. "Yes, I know."   
  
Not a peasant. The thought came unbidden, a reflex from years of Ares' training. Observe. See. Act. "Where is your army?"   
  
The woman jumped as if bitten. Bullseye! Livia felt the world swing into normality again.   
  
"I have no army."   
  
The voice was level – but the face said it all. A warrior. And a clever one. Livia's mind raced. Ares' reaction, 'Eve', 'my baby', a warrior. She nearly howled in frustration. Where was the missing piece?   
  
She stood back, sword raised. "Who are you?"   
  
The woman's eyes tracked Livia's movements. Not her weapon, she noted with dismay. Why not? Wasn't she scared? Livia advanced, pointing the blade between the woman's breasts. No reaction. Grudging admiration filled her. A true warrior, like herself. "Answer me! Who are you? What do you have to do with ... with Mars?" No sense revealing all her aces.   
  
The woman's hand diverted the weapon. Livia let her, never losing eye contact. Observe. The woman lowered her eyelids. Livia's eyes narrowed – what was she hiding?   
  
She looked up again, her face unreadable. "I'm nothing."   
  
Livia smirked. "A good answer. I'm almost beginning to like you. Almost! Continue."   
  
"You want to know about my relationship with Ar... Mars?"   
  
Livia nodded. So, she referred to him by his true name, too. How curious.   
  
"I am the mother of his child."   
  
Livia shrugged a shoulder dismissively. "You must be very proud."   
  
"No. I lost her."   
  
"Your daughter is dead?"   
  
The woman smiled slightly, sadly. "Not to me." Then, almost hesitantly, "She was ... stolen."   
  
"I see." Everything fell into place; Livia had to restrain herself from breaking into a triumphant smile. So that's the baby! 'Eve'! And Ares the father. Nothing quite so repulsive as a breeding harlot. So much for the mystery of what the strange woman was doing here: trying to use her to get to Ares, and trying to get Ares to find the child. Clever. But she needed to be sure.   
  
"You want Ares to restore this baby of yours, Eve, to you."   
  
The woman's expression became bland. "Do you think he could do that?"   
  
Livia sheathed the sword and allowed herself to relax her posture slightly, enough to put the woman at ease. "I'm sure he could, if I spoke on your behalf. Now, that's much better than trying to attack me and blackmail him, isn't it?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Well, then. I will speak for you. For a price."   
  
The woman straightened and looked into Livia's eyes, throwing her out of kilter for a second. She dismissed the momentary panic when the woman saluted her in the Roman fashion. A good start.   
  
"Name it."   
  
"You. In my army. One campaign only, that's all I ask. I can see you're good." Livia cocked her head in a question.   
  
The woman gave her a strange look. Those eyes again ... "It's a deal." She gave Livia a dazzling smile. "I thank you, Commander."   
  
"Report to the camp by noon. I'll see you in my tent on the third hour; we can discuss the details then. What's your name?" Now that the game was over, Livia was beginning to lose patience again.   
  
"Semra."   
  
"Dismissed."   
  
Semra saluted and left the temple, the scarves of her ridiculous slave-girl costume flapping behind her. Livia drummed her fingers against her scabbard, considering. She was very, very content. A rival out of the way – and better still, owing her a favour. A warrior, trained and obviously good, free for the upcoming campaign. And a lever against Ares. Not bad for one morning's work.   
  


* * *

  
  
Gabrielle dropped lightly off the ledge on the temple wall as soon as she saw Xena come outside. When Xena drew level, Gabrielle matched her strides, walking down the wide paved street. The slick grey cobblestones were cold enough to numb her feet through the soles of her boots and she concentrated on not losing her footing. The city was awake now, awash with people and noise, damp air thick with the smell of morning bread; shop windows were being thrown open and merchants called to each other across alleyways. After a while, Gabrielle spoke. "So we're fighting for Rome?"   
  
Xena did not slow down. "If we have to."   
  
"Are you sure there isn't another way?"   
  
Xena's shoulders rose and fell in what was probably supposed to be a shrug, but looked more like a sigh to Gabrielle's eyes, well acquainted as she was with Xena's moods. "You saw what happened back there. Ev... Livia held all the pieces, and put them together the only way she could. No explanation I can give her would be as convincing as one she finds herself."   
  
"You could have just told her." Gabrielle skirted a puddle and found herself falling behind. "Maybe if we just talked to her..."   
  
Xena shrugged again, her cloak moving limply. "And tell her what? That her mother slept through most of her adult life and looks barely a decade older than she is? That her father is the God of War?"   
  
"She'd believe the last part."   
  
Xena whirled around sharply, nearly causing Gabrielle to walk into her. An elderly woman cloaked like a cocoon gave them an annoyed look before walking around.   
  
"Of course she'd believe it!" The bitterness in her friend's face whipped Gabrielle like salt water. "That's why she can never, ever know it, don't you see?" Xena's eyes were pale, and so full of anguish that Gabrielle forgot every one of her own concerns – but this had to be said.   
  
"Xena," she began uncertainly, "How can you hide it from her? What makes you think Ares won't tell her?"   
  
Xena said nothing. Gabrielle bit down on the tip of her tongue, then decided she may as well finish what she started. "I think he really loved Eve." She saw the scorn in her friend's face. "I even heard him sing to her once, at night." The stuffy inn room, and Ares rocking the baby...   
  
Xena looked at her a moment longer, then turned and continued to walk as though they had never stopped. Gabrielle half-walked, half-ran to catch up, mentally cursing the cobbles.   
  
"Ares doesn't love," Xena's voice was hollow, half a step ahead. "He doesn't know how. To him, Eve was a new toy. Now Livia is a different kind of toy. If it suits his purposes, he will tell her – there's nothing I can do about that."   
  
Gabrielle finally caught up, falling in step. "We'll get through to her first."   
  
"We have to." Bleakness belied the determined words.   
  
Then neither of them could speak any more, and Gabrielle listened to their footsteps slapping a beat on the pavement. It started to rain again. Xena was right. Almost any story Ares chose to feed Livia would sound more convincing by far than the truth. Livia would believe him, and Xena's daughter would be lost forever. Their daughter.   
  
The two women turned towards the city perimeter, sodden cloaks dripping mournfully around them. They were heading for the military encampment on the Campus Martius, outside the city proper.   
  


* * *

  
  
Ares did not materialise in the Amazon village. Invisible to mortal eyes, he surveyed the huts and the weapons practice area cordoned off in the centre. The whole place was drab and brown in the weak morning sunlight, perfectly suited to his mood. Ares leaned against a tree trunk, crossed his arms and tried to look like he had better things to do – an effort entirely wasted on the aether.   
  
Several women wearing little more than war paint were crowded around the periphery of the practice ring; within it was a blur of fists and knees – two young Amazons locked in brutal hand-to-hand combat. Ares dismissed the skinny blonde one out of hand; he was here to see the other. Varia. Slender, dark, doe-eyed, with a perpetual scowl and a militantly nationalistic attitude Ares could only tolerate in very small doses. However, Varia did have one very useful quality, which up until now he had been quite happy to foster. She hated Rome.   
  
As Ares watched, Varia managed to secure a grip on the other fighter's arm, and with a twist of her wrist, the girl was on the ground. There was sharp crack as her back hit the dirt, and Varia bounced back slightly, a hint of concern in her eyes. There was a short, tense silence as the defeated Amazon lay unmoving on the ground. Then, unsteadily, the girl climbed to her feet. She clasped Varia's arm, gracious in her defeat and relatively unhurt. The others breathed a collective sigh of relief.   
  
"You must learn to gauge your own strength better, Varia." Marga, the queen, walked through the crowd to stand over Varia, who seemed suddenly diminished despite her triumph. Ares almost smiled at the simmering resentment in Varia's stance.   
  
"Why?" Varia asked a little shrilly. "The Romans don't pull any punches. Neither should we. What's the point of learning to fight someone who has no intention of hurting you?"   
  
Marga glanced back at the blonde Amazon's scratched and battered form, then returned her level gaze to Varia, faintly disapproving. "The Romans haven't thrown a single punch in our direction since Caesar's time, Varia. Don't do our enemies' job for them by maiming one of your own sisters. As to the point – you live to fight another day. And you learn self-control."   
  
Marga signalled for the others to follow her and departed, to all appearances oblivious to Varia's reaction to the parting shot. The others retreated after her, leaving Varia alone in the ring – almost.   
  
"Nice move," Ares applauded, appearing beside the startled Amazon. She recovered quickly, measuring him with a cautious look.   
  
"She could've cracked her spine."   
  
"Or yours. Point is, you taught her a lesson." Ares shrugged. "Next time, she'll be prepared."   
  
Varia frowned. "Marga's right. I still don't have enough control."   
  
"And when it comes to control, too much is not enough."   
  
Varia reddened. "You're laughing at me."   
  
"Far from it," Ares assured her. "I'm just trying to remind you of the bigger picture here." Marga had far too much influence on the girl for his liking. It could interfere with more important things. "Marga may have united the tribes, but how long will her control last when the Roman legions are pouring into your lands?"   
  
After a pause, Varia nodded. "Marga is weak. She doesn't believe that Rome will attack us – and she doesn't realise that if we don't do something soon, there will be no Amazon nation left."   
  
"Now, that's more like it." Ares tipped Varia's chin up to look into the girl's dark eyes. "Tell me, are you still prepared to lead your people against the Roman empire?"   
  
"Always."   
  
"Strength to the Amazon nation?" His tone did not betray so much as a hint of irony; he kept his face equally expressionless, and was surprised by how much effort it took. When exactly had this whole project become a pain in hard to reach places?   
  
"Strength to the Amazon nation," Varia confirmed seriously. Ares released her chin and she rubbed at her jaw absently, "Marga leads us well enough in peace time – but when we go to war, I'll be the one riding to face the Romans. Marga wouldn't stand a chance!"   
  
"Absolutely," Ares agreed. "You'll be the greatest Warrior Queen the Amazons have ever had." Mostly, he added mentally, that was because they'd never had a Warrior Queen before, and after this war they would certainly not have another. But he didn't say it aloud.   
  
Varia took a step back, growing suspicious. "You're after something."   
  
Or someone. Ares gave her his most charming smile.   
  
"Were you expecting a freebie? I think not. Unless you're prepared to pay a little price for my interference, how can I know that you're serious about this?"   
  
"You know I'm serious, Ares. So, what can the future Amazon Queen do for you?"   
  
This was it, Ares thought, the sole reason he had bothered to come here in person, instead of just collecting all his careful plans for this war and blasting the lot to Tartarus. The Amazon was waiting expectantly, her face still flushed from the fight, her dark hair swept back from bright, defiant eyes. It was a terrible waste of potential. Xena had better appreciate it.   
  
When Ares just continued staring at her, Varia shrugged and reached up to undo the laces on her leather top. He grabbed her wrist, barely registering her yelp of pain. He let go.   
  
"I appreciate your enthusiasm, but that won't be necessary." Did she imagine he was so desperate that he'd sell his support for some action in the sack?! "But since you're asking, there is a little something you can do for me. Do you know where Marga keeps the ceremonial knick-knacks? Masks, drums, sacrificial virgins, that sort of thing?"   
  
Varia grinned. "You forgot the blue paint and the jar of ambrosia."   
  
"You can keep the blue paint, and I'll even throw in the virgins – just get the ambrosia."   
  
Varia shook her head slowly. "I can't. Marga will notice it's missing."   
  
"Marga couldn't tell ambrosia from raspberry jelly if she was wrestling in it." Ares fought to keep the urgency from his voice. It wouldn't matter if this didn't work, he told himself, there was plenty more on Olympus. Except that taking ambrosia from under the other gods' noses could have extremely unpleasant consequences...   
  
Varia laughed. "All right, I'll do it."   
  
Ares did not allow himself to look relieved. "Good," he said, before flaring out of sight.   
  
Varia looked around, taking in the dusty practice ring, the makeshift huts and the expanse of forest in every direction. What could a god possibly want with ambrosia? She shrugged mentally, dismissing the curiosity, and set off towards the storage huts. The important thing was that he'd as good as promised to help her win against Rome. If all it cost her was a pinch of ambrosia, Varia considered it an excellent bargain indeed.   
  


* * *

  
  
Livia sat cross-legged on the temple floor, a pile of maps spread out around her. She had fully expected Ares to appear the moment Semra was out the door, demanding explanations. She wondered what was holding him up, then deliberately put it out of her mind. There was plenty of time before the appointed meeting with the woman. In the meantime, these maps demanded her full attention.   
  
Livia hesitated, tossing up strategies, stylus poised above the large sheet of parchment in her lap. Even with a terrible hangover, she found herself enjoying the exercise. She had always revelled in this part of a campaign, the calm before the storm. Calculating, planning, assessing possibilities. Nothing else compared to the power in the grasp of her fingers, when a single stroke could rewrite the world to her will. "The quill is mightier than the sword," she quoted from some childhood memory. At times like these, with the world at her feet, even if only on parchment, she almost believed it.   
  
She held a vague suspicion that this was not something Ares approved of. Sure, he could whip her ass at practice, even without using his powers, but she knew that when it came to strategy, she was angling Athena's way. Ares saw it as a boring necessity, a chore to be dispensed with as soon as possible so that the battle could begin. Livia loved the challenge.   
  
"Perfect." She blew on the ink to dry it, but the fleeting satisfaction soured at the memory of last night's scene. It was pure luck that Semra has given her the key to carrying out her plans, after she had so nearly lost Ares! She must not rely on chance again like this; there may not be another skeleton conveniently falling out of the closet to save her sorry butt. Rome may call her Fortuna's Champion, but Livia knew better. Fortuna was a Roman invention. The only real patron she had was Ares – who still wasn't here.   
  
Fine, she would wait. She could be patient when necessary. On second thoughts... Livia pushed the map away and rose, unsheathing her sword. She did not like to be kept waiting.   
  
She began her morning drill, sword slashing air and anything else that happened to be in the way. Tapestries, candelabras and any statues that were still whole came crashing down to the floor in pieces. "Come on, God of War, I want to talk to you!" The weapon moved almost invisibly, the drill practiced to perfection.   
  
"What in Tartarus do you think you're doing?!"   
  
Slashes of blue silver lit the wasteland of the temple hall, leaving behind a furious God of War. He tore the sword from Livia's hand and flung it aside. Livia flinched, but stood her ground. Ares did not like weakness.   
  
"Redecorating?"   
  
She knew at once that it was the wrong tack to take. Ares' fury seemed to fill every space around her. Livia was almost surprised that the weapons lining the walls were not glowing red-hot. She braced herself for the onslaught, but it did not come – instead, she watched, puzzled, as Ares tried to control his anger, finally succeeding. He gave her an odd look.   
  
"You and I have to talk, Livia. After you've cleaned up this," he motioned at the ruined interior of the hall, "yourself."   
  
Livia blinked in confusion. What's gotten into him? Clean?! With her army just outside the city, her plans ready and Semra waiting to take orders? Not likely! Time to go on the offensive. She stepped up to Ares, keeping her chin up and her eyes always on his face. Don't let him see you frightened, don't let him intimidate you. "I have good news."   
  
Ares' face twitched sarcastically. "Really?"   
  
"Indeed." Livia picked up her sword and pointed it to a map on the floor. "I will be launching an attack here – and here – as soon as the celebrations are over and I'm back in action." She saw a flicker of curiosity in Ares' eyes and waited.   
  
"How will you attack on two fronts at once? You have no second in command worth mentioning."   
  
"Had. I do now."   
  
Ares crossed his arms on his chest, evidently deciding that his 'talk' could wait. Good.   
  
"Explain."   
  
Livia turned her back to him with deliberate audacity and walked a few steps, finally coming to rest just under a small, high window. She positioned herself so that the slant of morning light outlined every curve. She did not want Ares to mistake her intention.   
  
"With pleasure. I met a very interesting woman last night. She claims that you fathered a child of hers." Was it just a trick of the light, or did Ares actually blanch? This was turning out better than she had expected! "She is mad with grief, but she is clearly a fine warrior. Your interest alone was recommendation enough." Livia paused to let the barb sink in. "I promised to help her restore the child."   
  
Nothing.   
  
Disappointment fell around her. She had expected some reaction to this, anything. Instead, Ares' features were set in stone, shadows black on the hollows of his face. "I extracted a pledge from her to join my ... our ... army for this campaign." There! Surprise. "She will be my second in command."   
  
"And you trust this woman?" Ares sounded distant.   
  
Livia shrugged. "As much as I trust any of my men. She knows that if she breaks her promise, I will certainly not keep mine." The corners of her mouth curled maliciously. "She wants to see her child again. And she will do whatever it takes." She paused, then added, "I can always kill her later."   
  
Without warning, Ares grabbed two handfuls of Livia's tunic, shoving her back roughly. Her head hit a column, darkening her vision for a moment. Livia shrieked with delight. Finally! She struggled, pulling the torn garment down over her breasts, her body thrilling in anticipation.   
  
Ares' eyes were blazing, his skin deathly pale. "You've got no idea what you're doing, little girl!" He yanked the piece of tunic she had loosened upwards, forcing her to cover her chest.   
  
Confused, Livia looked up at him. Not again! He couldn't humiliate her like this. Not now. "I'm no little girl, Ares! We've played this game long enough. I want you. Damn it, take me!"   
  
He slapped her.   
  
Not hard, considering, but the sound rang against the metal decorating the temple, mocking her. She cradled the injured cheek.   
  
Ares' face softened slightly. "Get back to your camp, Livia. Now."   
  
Livia pulled her clothes from his grip and ran out, shooting him an insulted look over her shoulder. The heavy door vibrated with her passage.   
  
Ares stared after her, breathing heavily. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to tell her who she really was, get his daughter back. Instead, she... He'd hit her.   
  
Livia, Eve. It wasn't real, couldn't be. Ares held out his right hand, palm up; a metal jar materialised on it. Heavy silver, circular, blackened in places from being placed too close to smoky Amazon fires. Varia's unwitting contribution to his plan – the Amazons' ambrosia.   
  
Once, Xena had refused the gift of immortality for herself and for their child. Something told Ares that Livia would not refuse it. He was a god, dammit! He had a right to have an immortal daughter!   
  
And then, Xena wouldn't have a choice. He'd talk to her, make her understand. She'd take the ambrosia, and become immortal, and never die again. He would break off a piece of the hard reddish jelly, put it on the tip of his own tongue while she watched, entranced; his closed mouth would draw out its heat so only the sweetness was left. Then he would take Xena in his arms, slowly, slowly, his palms warming the cool skin of her shoulders, stroking her cheeks. She would shiver and look at him, her lips just a breath from his own, parting softly until their mouths touched and burned with residual heat of the ambrosia. He'd look straight into her eyes then, and kiss her all the way into eternal life, holding her through the transformation and beyond...   
  
Abruptly, the jar was gone, and Ares was staring at the emptiness of the ruined temple. He should have known Xena would have a plan!   
  
She'd managed to find her way into Livia's army. He had to get Livia alone before Xena got any closer; the ambrosia was his chance. Xena wouldn't be immortal for him. But for Eve? Ares leaned back into the wall, putting the temple back in order with a thought. Xena would do it for Eve. And as long as she did, what did it matter why?   
  
  
  


To War!

  
  


_I know how to hurt, and I know how to heal  
  
I know what to show, and what to conceal  
  
I know when to talk, and I know when to touch  
  
No one ever died from wanting too much  
  
The world is not enough, but it's such a perfect place to start, my love  
  
And if you're strong enough, together we can take the world apart, my love  
  
People like us know how to survive  
  
There's no point in living if you can't feel alive._   
  
Garbage, "The World Is Not Enough"

  
  
  
  
The army camp was an immense square, four gates set into the centre of each side, two roads crossing it at right angles. Where they met, in the centre, stood Livia's command tent, surrounded by several smaller merchants' tents. The camp set-up, Roman to the core, was utterly foreign to Xena. She and Gabrielle had spent the last of their money on the requisite Roman armour; now they sat, cold and uncomfortable, near a small guards' fire, trying in vain to warm their hands. The sun was a spot of brighter white in the milky overcast sky, providing little warmth. Through the gap between the tents on either side of the fire, Xena could just make out the entrance to Livia's tent and the tall standards flying beside it, the eagle-shaped Aquila most prominent of all.   
  
Xena looked down at herself, then at Gabrielle: identical leather cuirasses over short tunics, cloaks, boots, helmets... She longed for the feel of her own armour, the leather and metal that fit her and only her, and said, simply, 'Xena'. But here, she wasn't Xena. She was Semra, and the sooner she was used to it, the better her chances with Eve. Xena turned her hands over, watching orange tongues lick at coals and at the rainy air. She could not afford to lose focus now.   
  
Gabrielle touched her arm, pointing in the direction of Livia's tent. "Look."   
  
Xena's heart thumped painfully at the sight of the woman striding towards it. Her baby, her flesh and blood. The make-up was gone and the torn wine-stained clothes had been exchanged for the bright armour of a general, the cuirass tooled over with intricate designs. The feeling of having been cheated rose up in Xena's throat, settling into a cold lump of dismay. All those years between the first smile – and the nod of greeting to a guard. It was impossible to believe they could be so completely, so irrevocably lost. Livia disappeared inside.   
  
Xena met Gabrielle's eyes for an instant and their warmth did more good than the fire.   
  
"Be strong," Gabrielle said, and Xena nodded. "For Eve."   
  
They rose together and headed for the command tent. It was time.   
  
"Halt!"   
  
Xena and Gabrielle stopped at the guard's command, cloaks slapping against damp leather. The burly man did not display the slightest hint of interest in them. Far too Roman for comfort.   
  
"Name and rank?"   
  
Xena saluted the guard, fist closed. "Semra, rank to be confirmed."   
  
The guard nodded curtly and glared meaningfully at Gabrielle. When no response came, he repeated impatiently, "Name and rank!"   
  
Surreptitiously, Xena stubbed the toe of her boot into the side of Gabrielle's foot.   
  
"Oh," Xena heard Gabrielle cough to cover up momentary panic, "uh, Jana. Rank to be confirmed."   
  
The guard disappeared inside the tent, his partner remaining at his post, seemingly oblivious to the cold, staring straight ahead. Xena and Gabrielle exchanged a tense look. Somewhere in the camp, a drum started up, rhythmic beats to synchronise a weapons drill. Beat, beat, beat-beat-beat. Pause. Beat, beat-beat-beat, beat.   
  
The guard ducked back out, lifting the heavy flap of the entrance. "You, Semra – the General will see you now. You," he indicated Gabrielle, "have no authority to be inside the camp. You will be escorted out." He motioned at another man.   
  
Gabrielle opened her mouth to object, but Xena cut in smoothly. "Jana is my attendant, officer. I'm afraid her presence is required."   
  
The man scowled. "Wait here." He re-emerged from the tent almost immediately. "The General will see you, with your attendant."   
  
"Thank you."   
  
Xena entered the tent, Gabrielle a step behind her. The two guards remained outside, but another pair on the inside of the doorway, identically uniformed, moved in to flank them silently.   
  
When Xena's eyes had adjusted to the low light within the tent, she was slightly taken aback by its lavish interior. Even in her days as a plunderer, she had never appointed her tent with such luxury. The thick leather walls were lined with tasselled hangings, there were pelts on the earthen floor and a trestle writing table, complete with inkwell and quills, was placed in the centre. It would take an entire wagon to haul all this! Behind the desk, on a high-backed seat, sat Eve, Livia, to all appearances engrossed in writing. Her quill scratched back and forth on the scroll spread out on the table. There were other scrolls there, too, and a sizeable map held flat by brazen weights shaped like eagles.   
  
Livia continued her writing without acknowledging their approach. It was not a subtle way to assert dominance, but nevertheless a powerful one. Xena had often employed it herself, especially in her younger days, before she had gained the skill and confidence to play for subtle manipulation over gross effect. She waited, observing her daughter numbly, Gabrielle at her side.   
  
Long brown hair, no longer styled but drawn up into a tight ponytail at the top of her head. Clever. A concession to practicality, but attractive enough to use her femininity as a weapon if need be. The same applied to what was visible of her armour – the metal, leather and linen were undeniably functional, but cut to enhance, rather than conceal, their wearer's shape. Xena tried to focus on these tidbits of information, to ignore the gnawing ache at the thought of knowing nothing more about her daughter. With a start, she realised that her breathing was shallow, synchronised with the drum beat outside.   
  
Beat. Beat. Beat-beat-beat. Hold.   
  
Livia. Livia. Livia-Livia-Livia. Eve.   
  
No!   
  
Deliberately, Xena took a long breath, breaking the pattern. She must learn to separate this young woman from her child. She must, or she may as well walk away now.   
  
At last, Livia replaced her quill and looked up, folding her hands in front of her on the desk. "Semra."   
  
Xena's heart flip-flopped in her chest, all sensible thoughts leaving her at the sound of her voice. Low, laced with slight contempt. So familiar, it hurt. How far was it from Champion of Rome to Destroyer of Nations?   
  
Not trusting herself to reply, Xena took a step forward and saluted, every muscle fibre strung taut with the effort of keeping her hands from shaking. Following her lead, Gabrielle did likewise, but placed a fist against her heart instead of completing the salute, in deference to her 'commander'.   
  
"I have a proposal for you that I think you may find interesting." Livia remained seated comfortably in her chair, looking over at the two women. 'She enjoys the feel of it,' Xena thought. 'Like an Empress on her throne.' She said nothing, waiting for Livia to continue.   
  
Livia picked up a dry quill and indicated the map. "I believe you agreed to offer your services to Rome for the duration of one campaign."   
  
Xena inclined her head.   
  
Livia waved the quill over the map. "And you'll no doubt want to begin your service as soon as possible?"   
  
The smugness in her voice told Xena that she had been right to let Livia draw her own conclusions back in the temple. "Of course."   
  
The prospect of obtaining a highly skilled officer for a campaign, with no pay at all, had most definitely appealed to Livia. Especially since all that was required in return was to dangle the carrot of an offer to speak for the said officer to the God of War. And a bonus – ensuring that Ares' interest in her did not remove him from Livia's side. Even as Xena was pleased by the success of the plan, she felt an increasing revulsion at herself.   
  
"I thought so. Let me show you these maps." Livia's gold-ringed finger pointed to marks around a group of valleys in Moesia and northern Thrace. "This is Greek Amazon territory. For now."   
  
Xena heard Gabrielle make a small noise behind her. Not just any Amazons. Gabrielle's tribe was there, in the northernmost of the valleys.   
  
Xena looked directly at her daughter, defying protocol. "Send away your guards."   
  
Livia smiled, genuinely amused by the idea. "Never fear, Semra, these men are deaf and mute. Quite literally, I assure you." Unspoken was the qualifier: they had not been born that way. "Whatever it is you wish to say, you can say it in their presence."   
  
Xena lowered her voice, taking refuge in the persona she had created. "Nevertheless. What I have to say is for ears of the Champion of Rome only." She emphasized the point with a sidelong glance at the doorway that also encompassed 'Jana'. Flattery was always a useful weapon. Livia's smile widened – apparently, she had not yet learned this fact.   
  
"Of course."   
  
Livia curled a slender finger, beckoning a servant. The man appeared, bearing a steaming wine jug and a platter of eggs and cheese. He set the food at the side of the desk, avoiding the maps, and hurried away.   
  
Livia flicked her arm at the two guards either side of Xena and Gabrielle. Her arm moved with the certainty of one used to being obeyed – but also, Xena noted, with a fluidity that revealed childhood lessons in dance and poise which no amount of weapons practice could disguise.   
  
The men saluted and exited the tent. Xena gave Gabrielle an apologetic look. "You too, Jana."   
  
A moment's hesitation, then Gabrielle followed the soldiers outside. The beat of the drum rose in volume briefly, then was muted again as the flap at the entrance closed.   
  
Alone with her daughter, the role she had chosen began to suffocate Xena. Her baby, blue-eyed and rosy-cheeked, a little bud of a human being, stolen from her along with the rest of her life. Perhaps Semra was no pretence after all. Standing in this tent, playing this farce, Semra was every bit as real, and as illusory, as Xena. Xena lay dead in a cave somewhere, her passing mourned by some, rejoiced at by others, probably ignored by most. The hollow shell in Roman armour was indeed Semra. Nothing more.   
  
Livia rose slightly in her seat to pour two small measures of mulled wine from the jug on the table. The hot sour smell drifted in the air. Xena's eyes followed her daughter's movements hungrily, as though avid attention now could somehow make up for all those empty years. She took the offered cup woodenly, cradling it in her hand.   
  
Livia sat back with a look of patient tolerance which brought to Xena's mind an unbidden image of Ares. Xena gulped at the wine, pretending to enjoy its watered-down heat, disgustingly Roman.   
  
"Well?" Livia asked, her tone slightly bored. She was, however, betrayed by her eyes – bronze sparks of curiosity in pools of dark blue. That much, at least, had not changed. Xena focused completely on those eyes until the woman around them was no more real than the child in her memories. She breathed again to dispel the mesmerising drumbeat outside and forced her lips and tongue to form words.   
  
"Permission to speak informally?"   
  
"Granted."   
  
"I can't accept your deal." Xena's heart beat in time with the drum.   
  
A minute change in posture was the only sign of Livia's confusion. "Why is that?"   
  
With a monumental effort and another gulp of the watered wine, Xena silenced the part of her that yearned to envelop the girl in a hug, to loosen her hair and make her little again, to protect her from herself. She approached the table and pointed to the map. "I've fought there before."   
  
She watched Livia scrutinize the patch of land at her fingertip.   
  
"On whose side?"   
  
A final sharp mouthful of wine, and it was Semra who replied. "I am an Amazon, Commander."   
  
Livia's head rose slowly, eyes narrowed. "An Amazon who had a child with the God of War?"   
  
Xena did not have to feign the pained look in her eyes. "Yes."   
  
Fascination replaced sarcasm. "Tell me."   
  
"Not much of a tale." The voice was Semra's, steady. "As you can imagine, it didn't endear me to my tribe. The baby was out of season, we were attacked and I was too weak to fight." She mimed self-disgust. "I was taken prisoner."   
  
"Did they rescue you?"   
  
Xena snorted. "Oh, they ransomed me, all right. Wouldn't do to have their war-leader paraded as a trophy! Had to have their little trial, make an example of an Amazon who'd tried to gather power to herself through her daughter."   
  
Livia nodded. "Your daughter would have been older than all the others born that season, stronger. More likely to win the fight for leadership when the time came."   
  
"Yes."   
  
"And with Ares as a father... So they banished you both?" There was no sympathy, the inquiry was just a gathering of information.   
  
"No. They'd rather have my daughter fight for them than against them. No, they banished me. I walked out of the village naked, carrying nothing, while every Amazon in the tribe watched and jeered. I haven't seen my daughter since." Was it the incessant beat of the drum? Or the wine? Xena found herself slipping easily into 'Semra'. Too easily. But she could not risk pulling back now.   
  
Livia nodded again. "None objected?"   
  
"Jana did."   
  
"You're a lucky woman, Semra." Livia bit into a small piece of cheese, cringed and threw the rest of it on the floor. "Loyalty is a rare commodity."   
  
"That's true," Xena said, remembering the deaf guards. The sour wine-soaked air nauseated her, giving her voice an acid edge that she knew must only add a ring of truthfulness to her words. "When Ares returns my child to me, she will be queen above them all and they will fawn and roll over, like the dogs they are!"   
  
Livia picked up half an egg with nimble fingers, popping the yellow pellet of the yolk into her mouth. "So you won't fight them because your daughter will be their queen?"   
  
"That's right."   
  
Livia rested an elbow on the desk and put the remaining egg white on top of the eagle-shaped paperweight, making a little cap for the bird. She pressed her thumb against the egg white and looked straight into Xena's eyes. "Sometimes, Semra," the thumb pressed further in, "you have to squash a few fools to get what you want." The egg-cap compressed under her thumb and tore, falling around the eagle figurine in two pieces.   
  
Xena watched as Livia rose from her chair, circled the desk and walked to the corner of the tent, where a large chart was pinned on the wall. Livia ran her hand over the parchment, then turned around. "This will be my final campaign."   
  
Xena's fingers tightened around the now-empty wine cup.   
  
"It's not a battle for land or taxes, Amazon. I'm sure you've caught the rumours in Rome – that I'm to wed the Emperor?"   
  
"I have."   
  
Livia returned behind her desk.   
  
"My victory over the Amazons will please Augustus." She sounded very certain of both the anticipated victory and the expected reaction. "And will prove once and for all that I have fought my campaigns for Rome – for him."   
  
She looked at Xena, very serious and suddenly very childlike. "I trust you, Amazon – call it intuition. So I will tell you this much. I was not born Roman. No matter how great my victories are, or how many triumphs I celebrate, that will never change. A non-Roman Empress of Rome is," she laughed, "a novel idea." The laugh ended abruptly. "But I intend for it to catch on."   
  
Xena leapt at the opening. "Forgive my ignorance – I have not been in Rome long, but I heard rumours that Fortuna herself placed you on a battlefield as a child." There was no reaction, so Xena went on. "If the most Roman of goddesses brought you to the Emperor, then how can you not be Roman?" Xena added a bemused frown to the question, hoping she was not overdoing it.   
  
Livia glared at her. "Let's just say that some Romans do not hold this most Roman of goddesses in quite as high esteem as they ought. They don't question her judgement. Just her existence."   
  
"And you're among them," said Xena shrewdly. A gamble that paid off immediately: Livia's eyes sparkled.   
  
"You're clever! I like that – I need clever people in my army. Fortuna must have sent you to me."   
  
Xena chuckled at that – was irreverence towards the gods hereditary? – and realised that Livia was grinning, too. The single shared moment engulfed Xena, the sea roared in her ears and threatened to dump her senseless onto harsh sand. She had to break it, before it broke her.   
  
Xena set her cup on the table, hating the excuse to look away. "Why are you telling me all this?"   
  
"Because I want to offer you another way to reach your goals – if you help me reach mine. You want revenge on the Amazons? You will have it." Livia reached across the table, refilling Xena's cup. "Join me, Semra, and you will do more than see your daughter again and have the Amazons brought to their knees. She will be queen – more than queen. She will be Empress of Rome!" Livia looked up. "I am offering you a position as chief legate of my army, and your daughter, the name of Caesar. She will be adopted and named my heir. You and I will crush the Amazons, Semra – and your daughter will one day rule them, and the world."   
  
It worked! Xena's mind shouted warnings – if she wasn't careful, she would start to believe her own story. Sudden silence brought her back to herself: the drum outside had finally, mercifully, ceased.   
  
"All this in return for the betrayal of my people?"   
  
"Betrayal? They ceased to be your people when they betrayed you, Semra. With your knowledge and my army, we can make them pay."   
  
"What about my daughter? She's still with the tribe."   
  
"By the time we reach Amazon lands, she will be out of harm's way. I'll talk to Ares."   
  
Xena waited a few moments, pretending to consider. "You're right."   
  
Livia grinned triumphantly and thrust her arm forward. "Then – to war!"   
  
Slowly, Xena gripped the girl's forearm, sealing the deal. "To war!"   
  
It occurred to her, as servants were called back with more food and wine, that that hard handshake had been the first touch she had shared with her daughter in twenty-five years.   
  


* * *

  
  
Ares made himself visible as soon as Xena left Livia's tent. Livia did not notice him at first, engrossed in the map on the table. She reached for the platter at her side and took a piece of bread without looking up – and it seemed so easy to just place the ambrosia there, and wait for her to take it. Ares shook himself free from the thought. The God of War, scared? Please. He just wasn't sure that it was the right time for this. Of course, thanks to Xena's interference, there would probably never be a right time.   
  
"Well, that was certainly an interesting turn of events."   
  
Livia twisted around in her chair to face him, then stood up. "I'm glad you approve."   
  
"Oh, I do." He glanced at the map. "An Amazon in your army – stroke of genius. But Augustus may have just a little problem with leaving his empire to one, don't you think?"   
  
Livia came closer to where Ares stood at the corner of her table, and tried to put her arms on his shoulders. He stepped back and glared at her until she dropped her hands with a frown.   
  
"What makes you think I'd leave my Empire to some Amazon's brat?"   
  
Ares raised his eyebrows. "Let me see. Could it be the pledge you just made to your second in command?"   
  
One corner of Livia's mouth lifted in a smirk. "Semra doesn't know it yet, but she's going to help me conquer the Amazons more completely than anyone has ever dared to dream. I'm going to make them love Rome."   
  
Ares stared at her, trying to decide whether her delusion was amusing or pathetic, and which would be worse in the daughter of the God of War.   
  
"You'd have to kill them first."   
  
"That's always an option," Livia agreed. "But I don't intend to take it. After all," she dropped her voice to that of a storyteller, "it's Semra who brought an army upon the Amazons. To think that she offered to help Rome to defeat her own people!" She clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Unfortunately for Semra, Rome doesn't like traitors. Once the campaign is over, I will hand her over to the people she betrayed, to secure an alliance. The Amazons will be suitably grateful – and Rome will be in love with her Empress." She grinned at Ares. "I love revenge tragedies. Especially ones with such a happy end."   
  
This was no delusion, Ares realised. This was a plan. A hunger had crept into Livia's eyes sometime during this mother-daughter reunion, a fire he used to know very well in the eyes of another, and had all but given up hope of ever seeing again. But here it was! A slow grin nudged at Ares' lips, threatening to reveal the relief he felt. Xena's interference could actually turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Granted, she'd managed to get close to Livia, but did she have any idea what she'd awakened in her daughter? No doubt she thought that if she could only talk to her, Livia would see the light, repent, and spend the rest of her life helping old ladies across the road. Ares wondered how long it would be before Xena saw that her little fantasy was doomed – and how much longer before she worked out that she needed his help.   
  
He found he had a renewed interest in this war.   
  
"Interesting. You make Semra second in command, use her knowledge, then wash your hands of her when the time comes." Ares paused, trying to pin down the strange discomfort he felt. What if Xena insisted on seeing this thing through? He dropped the thought. She wouldn't. Xena was smarter than that. "So," he returned his attention to Livia, "where does your offer to make Semra's child your heir fit into all this?"   
  
Livia did not attempt to conceal her delight. "It doesn't."   
  
Without warning, she placed both hands on the hilt of Ares' sword at his hip, drawing it in the same movement. The swish drowned out Ares' surprise. Before he could get irritated, Livia continued.   
  
"You see, Semra has to think she's getting what she wants: her child, her revenge," – Livia held the sword aloft, and her reflection stretched along the blade – "power." She tilted the sword at Ares' chest. "I could offer her ambrosia, for all it matters."   
  
"I thought you liked Semra."   
  
"I do."   
  
"Ah. Well, in that case..." Ares ignored the sword and spread his palms in slow admiration. He grinned, "I've got to say, I'm impressed."   
  
"You should be. With Semra out of the picture, you can have your child back, all to yourself." Livia stepped closer, pressing the sword a little way into his chest. That was going too far.   
  
Ares took the weapon from her hands and returned it to the scabbard at his hip. "What would I do with the kid?"   
  
"That's up to you." Livia waved a hand, "Train her as a cupbearer, or warrior, or stash her away for the future. I'm sure you could find a use for a mortal by-blow."   
  
Ares flinched. "A little incentive to keep me on your side?"   
  
"Just your fair share." Livia watched him, apparently relaxed. "Provided, of course, that I can still count on your support."   
  
There was a pause – then Ares threw his head back and laughed outright. She did take after her mother!   
  
"That was brilliant, Livia. Marvellously manipulated."   
  
"Then I have the blessing of the God of War on this campaign?"   
  
"Of course."   
  
"Good!" And before Ares knew it, Livia's lips were pressed to his, her slight body pushing him back against a tapestry on the wall, hands sliding into his vest.   
  
"What..."   
  
She bit his lip, hard. "Let's seal this deal." Her hands went to the catch on his belt.   
  
Panic shot Ares with a blinding sense of dèjá vu – he'd been waiting for this, for the hunger for glory that was the seed of a great champion, the defiance... But Tartarus, this was Eve! Disgust lurched within him. Yesterday, this meeting would have thrilled him to dizzying heights of power and desire, but today ... It sickens me.   
  
"Li... Livia!" He prised her off, holding her shoulders, his stomach heaving. "Do not do that again, do you understand?"   
  
He could not guess what she saw in his face, and didn't care. His daughter. All fire drained from Livia's eyes, leaving a hint of uncertainty, that self-despised search for approval which had never been Xena's. Right at that moment, Ares couldn't bring himself to regret it.   
  
He breathed, releasing her. Livia stood back. Her hands shook; she clenched them on the edge of the table behind her.   
  
"You promised to make me yours, Ares. Your champion." Her voice became stronger, accusing. "The word of a god is a sacred trust!" She lifted her chin a fraction, daring him to mock her.   
  
Ares leaned forward, planting a chaste kiss on her forehead. Her skin was icy and damp. "You are mine," he said – and wondered why his chest felt so tight, and why his eyes were burning.   
  
"I'm giving you what you've always wanted," his daughter's words fell like snowflakes onto hot spilled blood, "a warrior queen to rule the world in your name." She leaned back on her elbows against the table, the pose calculated to beckon him. Ares did not move. "Shouldn't I get something in return?"   
  
No, Ares thought, making a silver jar vanish from the food platter, its disappearance as unnoticed as its arrival. This was definitely not the right time.   
  


* * *

  
  
"Something is bothering you."   
  
Ilainus' voice startled Athena from her thoughts. When did it get this late? The tent was sinking into shadows, they stretched along the coverlets of the bed and disappeared into the furs on the floor. She looked across the woven pattern of the pillow at the mortal woman's concerned face, and touched that beautiful cheek in apology.   
  
"You know my mind better than I do, Ilainus. Too many things bothering me."   
  
"Hmm," Ilainus' lips drew into a slow smile as her hands disappeared under the covers. Athena caught a breath as they found a nipple and squeezed gently. "I could make you forget them."   
  
"I'm sure you could." Athena turned sideways to pull Ilainus' lithe, long-limbed body closer, pressing into the touch of those hands. Worrying thoughts about Ares' involvement with Rome and the Amazons paled into insignificance as Ilainus' fingers traced a shivering line over her breast and moved lower.   
  
"The trouble is," Athena tried to collect the words in between little shocks of pleasure, "the trouble is that I can't afford to – aah – to forget them," – a fingertip brushed her inner thigh almost accidentally, as if it never meant to move at all – "right now."   
  
The protest of innocence was betrayed by the glittering challenge of Ilainus' eyes. Athena tilted her head in a challenge of her own.   
  
For a long moment they regarded each other – and then Athena could not keep back her cry as she found herself pinned on her back, wide open to Ilainus' burning hands and eyes. The mortal folded her taller body down to kiss her mouth; Athena resisted her tongue and instead touched the tip of it with her own, licking the heat of it, winning this at least if Ilainus was to have victory over the rest of her body.   
  
When desire had crashed over them and washed away into calm, Athena held Ilainus close, running her fingers through the woman's sweat-darkened hair, cradling her head to her chest. Ilainus looked up, eyes suddenly clouded. "Is this about Varia?" she asked.   
  
Athena lifted Ilainus' chin, drawing her up for a kiss. "You have my favour, Ilainus. Always. Varia's interest is only in herself and her nation."   
  
Ilainus returned the kiss, accepting the explanation. "And Ares is neglecting both?"   
  
"She would not be sacrificing to me if she still had Ares' support."   
  
"Surely she is bound to Artemis, like all the Amazons. Why not sacrifice to her?"   
  
Athena frowned. "I can think of no reason for that. Unless..." She moved a little, letting Ilainus roll off her. She propped herself on one elbow and directed a keen look at her champion. "Why do you suppose Ares is supporting Rome?"   
  
"Xena is there. If she commands half the loyalty you do, my goddess," Ilainus smiled in genuine awe, "I have no doubt that Ares would be more than willing to change his battle plans to be by her side."   
  
Athena nodded thoughtfully. "I don't doubt Ares' ability to compromise his plans. It is the connection between this, and an Amazon's reluctance to call on Artemis that concerns me. Varia is hiding something from her – although with the amount of attention Artemis affords her worshippers, it hardly seems worth the effort."   
  
"Perhaps that is why she seeks your help instead."   
  
"Perhaps. But remember, Ilainus: a great commander always looks past what is obvious – to see if there is a deeper strategy."   
  


* * *

  
  
Gabrielle paced the length of Xena's tent, from the bedroll to the table and back again. She stopped at the doorway, drew the flap aside and looked out. The sun was not yet setting, but its light was soft, tinged with yellow, spilling over the bustling camp and into her eyes. Gabrielle fancied that the wind worrying at the legion's standards brought with it the faint smells of dying forests and the echoes of screams.   
  
"I have to warn them," she said to no one in particular.   
  
"Yes, we do," Xena's voice answered behind her.   
  
Gabrielle turned back and waited for her eyes to readjust. The stench of damp leather in the tent mingled with her own apprehension, making her nauseous.   
  
"Not we," Gabrielle said when she could see Xena again, leaning against the back wall of the tent in her Roman armour. "I. My tribe is my responsibility. I'm leaving as soon as it gets dark." She tried to breathe some determination into the words.   
  
Xena pushed herself upright. "If you do that, we've lost her. She must suspect we're spying – any commander would. You know we're being watched. If you leave, she'll have you intercepted and try to have us both killed."   
  
Gabrielle sighed, picking up her road satchel. She didn't want Xena to be reasonable. It made her feel uneasy, too close to losing her nerve. Gabrielle opened the satchel and looked inside, instead of at Xena.   
  
"I know," she said. "But I have to try."   
  
"It's suicide!"   
  
The edge in Xena's voice finally made Gabrielle look up – and all her carefully propped up bravado crumbled. The satchel slipped to the floor. She whispered, "I'm scared."   
  
"Me too, Gabrielle."   
  
Xena did not make a move to come closer, and Gabrielle realised why. "You're planning something." Xena moved her head a fraction. "And I'm not going to like it," Gabrielle concluded.   
  
"There is a way to get you out to the Amazon lands without Livia suspecting anything."   
  
"Alive?"   
  
The attempted humour felt all wrong. Gabrielle paused, then tried again. "How?"   
  
Xena's smile was very narrow. "We tell her about it."   
  
"What?"   
  
Xena looked past Gabrielle to the doorway, sliced by a thin line of yellowing light. "Jana the loyal attendant is going to look for Semra's baby."   
  
"Jana is supposed to be banished, she can't return to the Amazon lands."   
  
Xena's eyes returned to Gabrielle, almost colourless in the gold light. "Not without help. But part of the deal I made with Livia was that she'd ask Ares to help find this baby."   
  
Gabrielle stood still. Xena was going to ask Ares for help? But... "He'll want something in return. And we have nothing to bargain with."   
  
Xena was silent again, and Gabrielle breathed in exasperation. "For the gods' sakes, Xena, just tell me what it is!" Xena flinched, and Gabrielle felt guilty. "Please," she said softly. "I need to know."   
  
Xena tossed her head up, black hair spilling over her shoulders. Gabrielle tensed from sheer force of habit, half-expecting to hear that there were two behind her and three more outside. Instead, Xena said calmly, "Ares hasn't told Livia who she is. And he's not going to tell her."   
  
"Because he's going to use it as a bargaining chip?"   
  
"No. Because I will."   
  
  
  


All You Ever Wanted

  
  


_You better take what you can get,  
  
Don't even bother with my heart,  
  
I get a feeling I won't let dissolve._   
  
Pink, "Stop Falling"

  
  
  
  
The sun crept slowly towards the horizon. Far too slowly. Alone in her tent, Xena sat at her writing table and turned a goblet over in her hands, over and over. The last rays of the sun slanted in from a window flap in the opposite wall, igniting the goblet in a blaze of gold.   
  
Despite the façade of calm assurances with which she had ushered Gabrielle out, Xena didn't feel confident. She didn't even feel certain that what she was about to do could be called bargaining. She rather suspected it was more like a desperate last-ditch attempt to break out of a siege – the kind that usually ended in a short, devastating battle and a ruthless sacking of the besieged town.   
  
Xena glanced at the goblet again. It lost some of its fire as the sun set, and for a moment, it was another goblet, in another time. Strange. She had grown so used to remembering her warlord past with guilt and dismay that it was odd to think that there had been moments of joy in those years – not the savage joy of battle, but the warmer glow of something like contentment. These had been few and far between, but that only made the memories sharper. Seeing her newborn son for the first time had been one such moment. Lao Ma's hands freeing her from pain – another. The years had tainted them all with bitterness – her son's death, her debt to Lao Ma... This one was no different.   
  
... She had long been a warrior by then, long enough to have hardened past the memories of the raid on Amphipolis, of her brother's death, the agony of her mother's shaking finger pointing at her. She had learnt to lose herself in the feral tide of battles, until the blood thrilled her skin and flooded her body – and in those glorious hours of red heat, she could forget everything else.   
  
Battlelust. The word was inadequate, coined by someone with no sense of the vastness of what it described. It could never be understood, only experienced, over and over again, as inviting as the honey-thick luminosity of poison. Like the poison, it was the ebb of it that hit hardest, the loosening of its hold and the yawning despair left in its wake. That endless cycle had been the passage of her youth: surging despair quenched again and again by its cause, obliterating all in its way.   
  
And then came Ares.   
  
His appearance fed into the height of the battle, rushing through her nerves like molten fire. It seemed to give her a dizzying new perspective; Xena saw the entire field of battle at once, was everywhere at once. It was the first time she'd felt what it was like to fight with the God of War at her side. She knew she had to have it.   
  
When she returned to her tent that night she was spattered with blood; it had dried to pull on the skin of her cheeks, mingled salty with sweat on her forehead to run to her lips. A servant had set out a bowl of hot water and a linen towel, Xena splashed her hands and face, watching red clouds swirl away from her. The towel took the rest of the blood, and then she was reaching for a goblet of wine, thirsty from the battle.   
  
The wine grew suddenly warm in her mouth, tingling down the back of her throat. It wasn't the wine.   
  
Something invisible caught at the goblet, and Xena's hand, closed over the worked gold, was joined by another. Fingers entwined with hers, agonisingly close to a caress, tempting her with everything. Xena closed her eyes, intent upon the sensations – and felt something. A connection. A single rich note pouring endlessly into the distance, yet shorter than a breath, drawing her back from the brink of despair as the battlelust ebbed away into a purpose. Focusing her.   
  
Only much later did Xena realise that there had been no strange magic in that moment – just the surprised cry of a hardened soul joined by another, breaking into its solitude. She'd often wondered whether Ares had tricked her into it, into letting down her guard for that instant. It was easiest to think that he had.   
  
Afterwards, when she had turned her ability to sense him into a tool and weapon, it ceased to amaze her, became a fact of existence, and then an irritation, binding her to Ares when she wanted only to be free. Well, she was free of it now. So why was there that odd weight in the pit of her stomach? It was probably dread, and considering what she was planning, it was hardly surprising. Only dread had no right to feel like this. Like it wasn't Ares that she feared.   
  
A final glimmer of gold, and the goblet in Xena's hands returned to metallic reality as the sun's rays left it. It looked nothing like the one which had witnessed the end of the Destroyer of Nations and the birth of the Warrior Princess.   
  
Briskly, Xena set the thing down and filled it with wine, an irresistibly rich crimson. No use dwelling in the past.   
  
"Hello, Xena."   
  
Xena lifted her head to see Ares standing over her, arms leaning on the tabletop. He looked deceptively relaxed, his eyes caught in the tent's shadows. Xena licked her lips nervously and acknowledged him. "You heard me then."   
  
"I was listening."   
  
Having to look up at him made Xena uncomfortably aware of the difference between them: a god and a mortal. She stood up. "We need to talk."   
  
Ares raised his eyebrows a fraction, looking at her expectantly. He wasn't making this easy for her. Xena's face felt like a clay mask. She looked aside, at the brightness of the window – a white-grey square in the leather wall opposite. She took a breath and slammed the door on every doubt.   
  
"I want to discuss a deal."   
  
"A deal." A tiny smirk cracked Ares' wariness. He stretched slightly, pulling his shoulders back. "So you do want my help. I thought you'd have a change of heart, once you and Livia got better acquainted. Well, my offer's still open: you, me, Eve... Just say the word."   
  
"No."   
  
Ares sighed without surprise, "Not that one."   
  
Xena stepped closer, startling him. The wariness returned, Ares' eyes flicked to hers. There was less than a pace separating them now. She said, "You know what Livia is planning."   
  
"And you know I can't call it off."   
  
"I'm not asking you to do that."   
  
He frowned, "Then what are you asking?"   
  
Xena touched his arm – a mistake: the warmth of his skin set her heart racing. "Gabrielle is going to warn the Amazons."   
  
"What touching concern for a nation of warriors." Ares cocked his head. "Let me guess: you need me to sign her bon voyage card?"   
  
"You're going to take her there."   
  
Ares stared at her. "You must be joking. If you're after the Olympian ferry service, try Charon."   
  
"Cut the crap. There's no other way for Gabrielle to leave without destroying our cover, you know that as well as I do."   
  
"Maybe you should've thought of that when you made your arrangement with our daughter."   
  
Xena ignored the accusation in his tone, taking his hand lightly. The restless drumming of her pulse was a rush of noise in her temples.   
  
"But you see," she said softly, still holding his hand, "I did. Livia is going to ask you to help Gabrielle – Jana – look for the missing baby. All you have to do is agree."   
  
Ares grabbed her wrist at that; Xena splayed her fingers in his hold. His fingertips were individual points of pressure against her skin, a little too hard to be comfortable. The cut made by her chakram cracked open; Xena winced as warmth threaded down to her wrist and folded into the lines there.   
  
The sight of her blood drained the indignation from Ares' eyes, leaving only disbelief. He released her hand. "You want me to back the wrong story. Go on pretending that Livia is ... Livia."   
  
Too late to retreat now. Xena measured him with a steady look. "Just for a while. Until she's ready."   
  
Ares turned and paced a tight circle around the tent. "Let me see if I have this straight. I take your irritating friend to the Amazons, lie to my daughter for however long it takes you to decide that she's 'ready' to know who she is ..." He caught Xena's look. "Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm still interested." He returned to where she was standing and faced her again. " I just want to know – what's in it for me?"   
  
"What's in it for you?" Xena looked from the wine on the table to Ares' guarded expression, then shrugged slightly. It meant nothing. "Me."   
  
Ares froze.   
  
Xena let a small smile part her lips, taking a step forward. It brought her so close to Ares' face that she could see something strange in his eyes, a glimmer of something she recognised ... Sudden shame made her cold, then turned into a wave of fire, but the words had already dropped from her lips, and there was no calling them back. Xena did not try. She leaned forward, past that vulnerability in Ares' eyes, to whisper hot against his mouth.   
  
"You help me win back my daughter, and I'm yours."   
  
His breath was ragged on her lips. "You're mine."   
  
"Yes. Tonight." Xena took the front of his vest in her hands, bunching the studded leather painfully against her cut, but the small pain could not cool her. She knew the fire in her was no longer shame, but could not remember how to stop it.   
  
"It's what you've wanted, Ares," her whisper was urgent now, too far gone to pull back, "for years – to have me back, to hold me, to touch me..." Ares' heart was hammering against her fists – or was it the other way around? "I'm offering you this night. Take it."   
  
Ares drew back slightly, unexpectedly; their eyes met and held. Xena felt a tightrope sing beneath her feet, the vertiginous panic of uncertainty – she'd risked it all for nothing, he'd never settle for a single night, he wanted all of her, the warrior queen.   
  
And without any warning, Ares' mouth was on hers, sweet and so deep that it took the breath from her lungs; Xena flung herself hard into his kiss before she had realised her victory.   
  
Their hands were everywhere, dipping into curves and over them, tugging frantically on fabric and armour. Xena realised she'd been afraid of memories assailing her, getting in the way – the one time when they had been together like this, when she had lost her dark side, a part of herself, and had clung for dear life to the connection she'd sensed with Ares. He swept a strand of hair from her cheek, and the impossibly light touch sent a shiver through Xena. It was nothing like those hazy memories of the bathhouse, no memory could ever thrill her like this – all the way to her spine, Ares' lips opening her mouth wider, closer, and then the darting flame of his tongue in her as he flicked the top of her lip.   
  
"Xena..." Ares paused, holding the kiss on the surface of her mouth, his hands gripping her shoulders convulsively around the leather cuirass – "If this is a game..."   
  
"No!" It was almost a scream, Xena fought to find her breath. "No," she said, softer, "no games." She found his eyes, terrified that she'd see them mocking her. They were not. Ares was looking at her out of their rich darkness; frantically Xena searched for the God of War instead, but could only see Ares, could not find the detachment she needed – and that was almost too much to handle. She took Ares' hands from her shoulders, wound them around her hips, her eyes never leaving his, every gesture a seal. "We made a deal," she said very quietly, "And I don't go back on my promises."   
  
That did it. Ares' face hardened slightly, defensively, just as she had known it would – and the desire in his eyes became a painful tide, a bitter need that rose in both of them simultaneously and Xena made no attempt to fight it. They joined in another kiss, harder, defiant, almost bruising – she put both hands on the back of Ares' head, pulling him even closer as he gripped her waist, crushing his mouth with her own. She felt the odd bumps of his spine at the base of his neck, meeting his collar, traced its line down to his chest, then yanked his vest open. Ares gasped and released her mouth, holding on to her waist as she leaned back slightly.   
  
Xena felt her blood rise to her face – why did he have to be so damn beautiful? The muscles of his arms and chest were shadow-drawn to perfection; she ran her palms across his chest, the silky roughness of the hair making her giddy. Roughly, she pulled the vest off and reached for the buckles of his belt, but Ares tightened his hold on her waist until she was pressed up against him, and Xena fell into the sensation of his body against hers.   
  
"Wait," he whispered hoarsely, his hands finding the edge of her cuirass, moving down past it, to her hips, buttocks, then back up. "Not so fast."   
  
"Fine." Xena ran her tongue, then her teeth, over the bare skin of his shoulder, lost for an instant in the scent of him – warm, like a spice she had never seen but somehow knew. Her armour was in the way, but Ares was already unbuckling it – Xena hated the unfamiliar Roman shell as never before, welcomed the cool release when the mass of leather and steel tumbled in a heap to the floor, and Ares' hands were on her hips again, bunching up her linen tunic. She squirmed as he slid it up, over her head; his thumbs brushed her nipples and Xena bit her lip, suppressing a whimper as the thin garment joined her armour on the floor.   
  
Ares did not give her a moment to think about her nakedness, to regain control; a heartbeat later Xena found herself on the edge of the table, the jug and goblet spilling to the floor in a wave of red clatter. She tried to get down, wanted to touch him, but Ares' hands were already moving down over her hips.   
  
"Stay still." His voice was thick with such desire that Xena could not have moved had she wanted to, not when he was pushing her knees apart, kneeling down between them to shift her closer. She had never before allowed herself to be this vulnerable to him, knew that she shouldn't, but it was far too late now. Ares' hands were caressing the soft skin of her inner thighs, fingers moving ever higher in slow circles; Xena tried not to look down, not to let him see the fire in her eyes – enough that he could feel the fire in her body, seeping from her with every move of his hands.   
  
Ares' lips touched her, nearly tipping her into a scream – Xena managed to bite it back with a shuddering effort, arching into his mouth, unable to think further than this impossible 'now', her hands caught in Ares' short hair – messy now, almost human – and every sound he made was a new note, vibrating through her body, almost reaching her soul.   
  
Her release was no release at all, an explosion of heat that ripped right through her and into Ares' long licks as he caught it, so that she was craving more before it was over. In the flicker of clarity that came before this second wave of desire could drag her under, Xena realised she was still wearing her sandals, turned and jumped off the table, lifting Ares up with her.   
  
"Whoa!" His startled cry was muffled by the bedding on Xena's sleeping pallet as she pushed him across the tent and down, straddling his thighs. She grinned at his surprise and gave him no chance to recover, moving over him, touching his chest, unlacing his pants and helping him kick them off. Boots and sandals followed, and then Xena was on top of him again, her mouth meeting Ares' for a hungry kiss, lightheaded with desire.   
  
"Stay still," she commanded, dodging his hands to dive down to one of his nipples. Ares' eyes widened slightly as she took it in her mouth, and Xena could not resist flicking her tongue over it, until he flinched and moaned slightly, and his other nipple was hard under her fingers.   
  
"Xena..." Ares pulled her back up, so that she was stretched out full length against him, skin to skin – and it was her own eyes that widened. No games, she had said, and had meant it, but not like this... Ares was looking at her with so much care, so open to her – it was a deep shock to see that warmth in the eyes of the God of War – and in that instant, those hazy memories returned: his gentle caresses on her bath-damp skin, the gold flickers of countless candles around the bathhouse – and the ache deep inside her, welling like tears, willing for the moment to be forever or not to be at all.   
  
"Xena... If you don't..."   
  
"Shh," she whispered, "Don't speak."   
  
Slowly, very very slowly, she shifted her body until he was inside her and there was nothing between them, then lowered her face to touch Ares' lips with her own, stretching out over him – toes, legs, shoulders, mouths – and began to move. The friction heat of their skin burned her, and the tenderness in Ares' hands and lips brought back that welling pain which could never be tears. Ares made a low sound and reached up to unclip her hair; it fell long and black around them, and in its darkness, Xena moved without feeling any motion, knowing both of them were melting into a oneness that could never, ever exist.   
  


* * *

  
  
Falling through the small window, moonlight diffused silver-white on Xena's bare skin and gleamed in her hair. She was breathtaking, lying there beside him, her hip and shoulder warm pressures on his body, her face turned away. Her breathing was soft and even, but Ares knew she was awake. Asleep, she had turned towards him, frowning a little at something only she could see, until he had put his arm around her to draw her close. She had relaxed then, and sighed on his shoulder, almost as if she trusted him. The memory made Ares shiver. He may have held Xena's body, but she had been holding far more. Good thing she'd been asleep and could not know just how helpless she had made him, how unnecessary their bargain really was. A very good thing.   
  
Ares wanted to touch her again, to feel the small flaws in the creamy smoothness of skin. He did not want perfection, it belonged to cold things, to statues and effigies, and Xena was warm and real at last. The moonlight sketched her body: bumps left by crude soldiers' stitches, faded scars where arrows or blades had struck, and the newer scars he had never seen before, thin white lines on her belly, Eve's marks. He felt vaguely responsible for those, lowered a fingertip to touch one. Xena tensed under his hand, but did not turn, and Ares traced the line gently, almost teasingly, down to her dense curls. When he stopped there, her thighs parted very slightly and Ares had to smile. One night, she had said? He very much doubted it.   
  
"No." Xena jerked away from him; surprised, Ares looked up. Xena had turned to face him, her whole body taut, her chest rising and falling quickly.   
  
Ares flashed her a grin, hoping it hid his confusion and slight irritation. "You're not tired?" He tried to reach her, and this time she did not move away – but neither did she move towards him.   
  
"It'll be morning soon." Xena motioned at the window, its square bluish rather than black, but still dark. Angry confusion deepened – what was the point of playing this game? Her skin was blazing, Ares could feel its heat without even touching her. Why did she insist on denying them both?   
  
"In that case, I'll take a tip from the Romans and seize the day." He looked at Xena, challenging her to admit it. "Or night."   
  
She said nothing.   
  
His palm was flat on her legs; Ares brought one finger down between them, drawing his hand upwards a little way, feeling the muscles in her thighs bunch up, feeling how tense she was – and how much the resistance was costing her. He paused, and watched her eyes. "I thought you didn't go back on your promises."   
  
"I don't." Abruptly, Xena relaxed, releasing his hand, and her gaze lost its intensity, became pallid and cool in the greyish light. "You have until daybreak," she said, her voice as bland as her eyes. "Better hurry."   
  
She lay still and silent, a world away.   
  
"Xena?" Ares felt a shock of horror, grabbed her arms and lifted her slightly. She was limp in his hold, a small smile playing on her lips, neither humour nor affection. It merged with a vision from the nightmares which had plagued him for years: she was a frozen doll, bluish-purple, dead. I'm gone, the vision had taunted him with words that echoed in his head, gone forever, into eternity – and you know all about eternity, don't you, God of War?   
  
"Xena!" he screamed, dropping her, clutching her again. He realised he'd closed his eyes, when he opened them Xena was staring up at him in utter bewilderment, very much alive – and it was a relief, such a relief to see anything but that broken pallor. He had never wanted her like that, trapped and broken – she knew that! Xena, who made him feel so alive, no, who forced him to feel alive, beautiful mortal Xena... To see her broken would be worse than all his dreams of ice. With an effort, Ares normalised his breathing, tried to think of something to say to her, anything.   
  
"Stay with me." It was not what he'd meant to say. He lowered himself to the bedding, sweat-damp and chilly, and drew the blanket up over Xena, tucking its edge under her hip.   
  
Xena shook her head; her eyes were soft and, Ares thought, a little wistful.   
  
"I can't do that."   
  
"Why not?" Ares tried to fight back the hope that kept clawing at him, begging to be let out. He smirked slightly, "Tell me you didn't feel anything tonight."   
  
Xena's mouth curved a little, the grin escaping her control. "Well – maybe a little something."   
  
Ares choked, offended. "Excuse me?!"   
  
Xena laughed and he realised she was teasing him – Fates, what he wouldn't have given for this moment when he thought he'd never see her again! The joy he felt made Xena finally, completely alive to him and with her, he felt like living, too. He gathered her into an embrace, stroking her hair, nuzzling her, inhaling her scent.   
  
"Stay with me," he said into her hair, "Forget the deal. We'll work it out, everything."   
  
Xena prised herself away, gently but firmly. She was no longer smiling, and the joy withered in Ares.   
  
"You're a god, Ares. You have eternity to 'work it out'. I only have a short span of time and then – I'm gone." She tried to rise, but Ares caught her wrist. Xena sighed. "It was one night, and it's over."   
  
Ares glanced up at the window – unmistakably lighter now.   
  
"My daughter is leading Rome's army against my best friend's people in a world I barely recognise. I have enough things to 'work out'".   
  
"It doesn't have to be that way."   
  
Before Xena could respond, Ares held out his hand and a bright silver object flashed into it. He flicked the lid open with his thumb, tilting the jar so that Xena could see inside. The ambrosia cast a faint reddish glow on her face as she looked at it.   
  
"It's enough for two," he said, letting Xena take the jar in her hands. "You and our daughter. You know you're going to need time to reach Livia. Take it, and you'll have all the time in the world. We can work it out – all of us."   
  
Xena looked up. "What about Gabrielle?"   
  
Of course, the blonde... But Xena was considering it, or she would not have asked! Ares clung to that promising thought at the expense of all else.   
  
"I couldn't get enough for her," he began, then realised Xena's face was closing up. Frantically, he tried again. "You said yourself that the Amazons are Gabrielle's people, she belongs with them ..." But it was too late, Xena was shaking her head again and returning the jar, and Ares finally understood the other gods' predilection for turning annoying mortals into trees and pot plants. Right now, he could have cheerfully turned the babbling bard into something shady and quiet – if only it could have helped.   
  
"Forget it, Ares. You know I never wanted immortality."   
  
No, she didn't, Ares thought. Doesn't. And one day not long from now, some idiot with a better arrow, or a quicker blade would take her away forever, and if not – then mortality would strike anyway, sooner or later, and there would not be a reprieve again. What then? He'd lived this long just fine without her, he could go on without her, no problem. Trouble was, he'd tried it. For twenty-five years. And he didn't think he'd like to try it again.   
  
"And what about mortality?" he asked smoothly. "Are you sure it's what you want? What happens if you fall on a battlefield somewhere, and never get through to Livia at all – do you think she would refuse the ambrosia?"   
  
Xena's face hardened completely, and Ares could have kicked himself. Trying to turn this into a game was stupid, it wasn't what he wanted... Damn!   
  
Xena shoved the ambrosia back into his hands and sat up. "I kept my end of the bargain," she said icily, "I trust you to keep yours."   
  
Ares made a last, desperate attempt. "Okay," he said, "the future can wait. I'll settle for now." He looked down at the jar in his hands, closing the lid carefully, holding Xena's gaze – and tossed it over his shoulder. Xena followed its arc as it tumbled through the air, seemingly in slow motion; the blanket fell from her hands and folded slowly at her waist.   
  
The jar landed, bounced up – and dropped directly into the hands of the goddess who materialised in the centre of the tent, the heat of her arrival washing gold over the sparse interior. The light collected down to a point at Athena's feet and disappeared.   
  
"Let me guess," she said, opening the jar briefly to glance at its contents, "this is not what it looks like."   
  
Ares put his arms around Xena's waist as she pulled up the blanket to cover herself, and shrugged in perfect nonchalance. "Yeah it is." Damn his sister for bursting in just as he was getting somewhere!   
  
"Warrior Princess," Athena nodded in Xena's direction.   
  
"Athena." Xena rose with the blanket, breaking away from Ares. He followed her up, fully clothed, and wondered if there was a rule about turning fellow gods into trees.   
  
Athena picked up the bundle of armour from the floor and held it out; Xena retrieved it from her hand, but made no move to put it on.   
  
"I see my brother is still trying to win you back after all these years." Athena glanced at the bedding. "With considerably more success than he's had previously, it seems."   
  
Ares glared at her. "Jealous, sis?"   
  
Athena ignored him, continuing in the same didactic tone she seemed to think suited the Goddess of Wisdom. "I apologise for the interruption, Xena, but Ares and I have a little matter to discuss," she looked meaningfully at the ambrosia in her hands, then at Ares – "in private."   
  
Xena shrugged into her tunic, dropping the blanket from underneath it, pointedly indifferent to the presence of two gods. "Go right ahead," she said, "I have an army to move." She picked up her armour and began to put it on.   
  
"Hey – wait wait wait..." Ares held out an arm to stop her, "Wait a minute."   
  
Xena moved away, lacing up her gauntlets. "Ares, I have to do this my way." There was a hint of regret in her face, but Ares could tell his chance was gone. He sighed.   
  
"What a surprise."   
  
Somewhere in the camp, a bugle sounded; Xena shook out her hair, jerked the tent flap open and ran outside, into the grey dawn. The leather fluttered shut behind her.   
  
Athena looked after her. "On second thoughts, I may have been a little hasty about your success."   
  
Ares shot her a poisonous look, but it did not meet the usual deprecating sarcasm in his sister's eyes – only a warning.   
  
"You're playing a dangerous game, Ares. Stealing from another god?" Athena squeezed the silver jar in her hand and it disappeared in a flare of light, taking Ares' plans with it. "That's low, even for you."   
  
"I'm thrilled you think I have standards," he snapped, torn between anger and despising himself for the prickling fear he felt. True, the ambrosia had belonged to Artemis, but she was probably scarcely even aware of its existence...   
  
Athena's voice lost its veneer of tolerance. "I'm sick and tired of having to clean up your messes, Ares. I could do without neglected Amazons complaining to me, and I could certainly do without having to explain your romantic fantasies to our father!"   
  
"If it's romantic fantasies he's after," Ares said, anger squashing fear, "try telling him yours. I'm sure he'd find Ilainus entertaining."   
  
She didn't let him deflect her. "You never do think of the consequences, do you? It wouldn't have crossed your mind, for instance, that Zeus might consider your attempts to make your lover and your daughter immortal as open rebellion?"   
  
Ares frowned. "How do you..."   
  
Athena sighed in exasperation. "It wasn't difficult to work out that Livia was your daughter, Ares, but that's not the point. It's bad enough that you're trying to create immortal champions – that alone could have cost you your godhood. But to Zeus, it looks suspiciously like you're after a do-it-yourself pantheon. Between Uranus, Chronus and himself, it does seem to run in the family. You can't blame him for being cautious."   
  
That prickling fear suddenly acquired a name. Rebellion. This was serious. Nothing got to Zeus quite like a threat to his rule, Ares had learnt that all too well during the several very unpleasant months he'd spent in Tartarus after the Dahak mess. Who knew what creative punishment his dear father could cook up this time? Zeus could kick him out from Olympus – or off it, as Hera had once done to Hephaestus. Only in his case, Ares could bet it'd be a permanent arrangement – he wasn't Hephaestus, he couldn't forge trinkets to bribe his way back into the fold. Wouldn't want to, anyway. No, he'd end up back in Tartarus – or worse, mortal. Ares had no urge to repeat either experience.   
  
He met his sister's cool gaze, swallowing hard. "This is not about crossing Dad, you know that."   
  
Athena looked suddenly tired. "Try explaining that to him. Repeatedly."   
  
"It didn't bother him last time, when Eve was born." Of course, Ares thought, back then he never did retrieve the ambrosia, had only tried to convince Xena to take it, without success... And then it dawned on him. "You never told Dad about that, did you?"   
  
Athena shrugged, "I saw no reason to tell him, when it was obvious that Xena had no intention of accepting your kind offer. But I couldn't keep him from finding out this time, not after you actually stole the ambrosia." Her eyes told Ares just what she thought of the entire escapade. "I did, however, point out that the problem was Artemis' negligence." She smiled thinly. "I believe our father is currently busy making sure that there's no more ambrosia available for human consumption. And Artemis is sulking somewhere in her forests, ignoring the Amazons as usual. So you're off the hook – for now."   
  
Ares gaped, "You covered for me!" Unbelievable. Her mortal lover must have mellowed her; clearly, romantic fantasies agreed with his sister. He grinned. "Never knew you had it in you, sis!"   
  
Athena did not share his mirth. She fixed him with a stare too cold for humour, implacable almost to the point of compassion. Ares sobered.   
  
"I did what I could," Athena said. "But if I were you, I'd stay out of Dad's sight for a while – and don't even think about getting the ambrosia again. I mean it, Ares. Xena is mortal, and so is your daughter. Accept it."   
  
Ares nodded. There'd be other chances.   
  


* * *

  
  
Contrary to all expectation, the dull dawn had grown into a mild sunny morning, a strange backdrop to the controlled chaos of an army preparing to march. Gabrielle found herself caught in it, bundled into her role as the new senior legate's attendant, pushed and prodded into action until there was no time to think about anything except the immediate. She had tried to catch Xena's attention several times, but it seemed impossible to break through the eddying crowds of officers taking their orders or the soldiers she was talking to, and the one time she thought Xena had seen her, her face had been unreadable and Gabrielle had not known how to call her.   
  
Perhaps it was for the best. There were tents to pack, fortifications to dismantle, mules to load. Everyone seemed to know what was expected – so Gabrielle let it all carry her along, trying not to think about the previous night. She trusted Xena; she'd always been able to take on Ares, whatever the scheme. If she thought she could outmanipulate him now, then Gabrielle would trust her on that. Xena would tell her everything when they made camp for the night, and then Gabrielle could go to the Amazons – no sense in fretting over a day's delay when there were so many miles separating Rome and the Amazon territories.   
  
Of course she trusted Xena. It was Ares she didn't trust. He had played the protective father to little Eve so convincingly that Gabrielle could not help but be suspicious. Sure, he had loved Eve in his way – but that would not have stopped him from using her for his own ends. Now, when Ares seemed to be hanging back, letting Xena and her insinuate themselves into Livia's trust... It wasn't like him, that's all. Which led Gabrielle to believe that he had some plan in the works, no doubt involving both Xena and Livia. Leaving Xena here, while she herself went to the Amazons, could be walking into his trap.   
  
On the other hand, Xena had insisted that using Ares' help was the only way to succeed, and Gabrielle trusted her – but what if something went wrong? Gabrielle wanted to believe that she would not lay the blame at Xena's feet, would not say, 'I trusted you and you let me down'. Yet deep down, she knew how easy it would be. Gods knew, she'd done it before; Xena was so willing to accept responsibility for anything. The thought frightened Gabrielle. She didn't want to feel a coward, wanted a share of the responsibility – and even that was selfish.   
  
"Jana!"   
  
Gabrielle started, realising that the young soldier had called her several times without an answer. He was a junior tribune, a rank which promised a military career later, provided he'd play pageboy and messenger to the higher-ups for now. This particular tribune was a lanky youth called Rufus for his flaming red hair and freckled skin.   
  
"What is it, Rufus?" she said, squinting at him against the sunlight.   
  
"We're all finished here," he said, motioning over his shoulder. The sharpened wooden stakes used for fortification of the camp perimeter had been removed, the ditch filled. Gabrielle marvelled at the efficiency of so many men working together. Soldiers stood talking, waiting for the signal to march.   
  
"I'll let Semra know," Gabrielle nodded. She turned to go, but Rufus's voice stopped her.   
  
"Hey, Jana," his tone was easier, friendly. "Is it true what they say – that you're an Amazon?"   
  
"I am."   
  
Rufus eyed her suspiciously. "I thought Amazons would be... taller."   
  
Gabrielle grinned despite heself, then, before Rufus could react, she aimed two swift kicks at his shins and hooked his left ankle from under him. Rufus found himself on the ground, an inch away from a glittering puddle.   
  
"Size isn't everything," Gabrielle smirked, holding out her hand.   
  
After a stunned pause, Rufus took it, letting her help him to his feet, conceding her victory. "Wow," he breathed, "You're fast. And good."   
  
Gabrielle let him walk beside her as they made their way past soldiers swarming in the remains of the camp. "First rule of Amazon warfare," she said, squinting into the sun, looking around for Xena, "Never underestimate an Amazon."   
  
Rufus laughed, "I'll remember that."   
  
Gabrielle faltered. What in Hades was she doing? Giving Romans tips on defeating the Amazons? True, it was only one kid and not much of a tip, but Gabrielle's sense of unease grew. She had to get out of there, and soon; whatever Xena's plan was, she fervently hoped it was working. She had to warn the Amazons about this.   
  
"So what's the second rule?" Rufus broke into the thought.   
  
"Never question your superiors," Gabrielle snapped – then felt a pinprick of remorse as Rufus' smile disappeared.   
  
"Guess there's not much between us and the Amazons then," he said with a hint of bitterness. "Romans, I mean. We don't question our superiors either. Especially those blessed by Fortuna herself."   
  
Gabrielle darted a curious look in his direction. "Livia, you mean?" The two of them reached one of the central roads of the camp and headed inwards, to where the command tent was being dismantled.   
  
Rufus hesitated, then shrugged. "Who else? Oh, I know she's a damn brilliant general," he added hastily, "and she takes her own orders from the Emperor. It's just that sometimes... Defending the borders isn't glamorous, and more often than not, you end up with civilians on the other end of your sword. And you feel like packing it when things get real ugly – but that can't be helped." He glanced at Gabrielle, searching for understanding. Gabrielle nodded uncertainly. "But this campaign, it's not about peace for the Empire, is it?"   
  
Gabrielle considered it. "No," she said. "It's about expanding it." And slaughter for the sake of glory, she wanted to say, but did not.   
  
Rufus sighed. "Fortuna's right to favour Livia," he said. "Her cause has always been Rome's safety. But some of us worry, you know – about this campaign. If the Amazons are so scattered, so far away, how can they be a threat? And if they're not a threat..."   
  
He trailed off and Gabrielle waited expectantly. Abruptly, Rufus changed the subject. "So what are you doing here? You're too conspicuous to be a spy. Just a mercenary, then?" He looked at her from under reddish lashes. "You don't seem like the type to betray your folk for a few dinars."   
  
Gabrielle set her jaw, refusing to meet Rufus's eyes. "Second rule of Amazon warfare," she muttered.   
  
"Never question your superiors?"   
  
"You learn quickly."   
  
In the end Gabrielle did not manage to catch a moment with Xena. Livia's quaestor had been posted at the former site of the command tent; Gabrielle reported her unit's readiness to him and headed back for her gear. A little while later, scarcely past midmorning, the bugles played 'move out', and the Roman army was on the march.   
  
There were four legions in total: over twenty thousand foot-soldiers, as well as a modest-sized cavalry unit. They marched in formation, rows of heavy boots thudding against the paving stones of the Appian Way, built to last with the typically Roman enthusiasm for carving their mark into the landscape. Gabrielle rode behind Xena and Livia, too far to hear what, if anything, they discussed on the way. Not that conversation was easy. Even when Xena hung back to ride beside Gabrielle for a while, they could only exchange brief looks of support, could not really talk in the middle of an army. Soldiers marched around them, belting out songs that served to pass the time and keep the rhythm of the march. Gabrielle resigned herself to waiting for nightfall.   
  
Under different circumstances, it could have been an interesting ride. For the first three miles or so, the tombs lined the side of the road – huge edifices for dead nobles, ornate monuments of every imaginable form. There was nothing overtly gloomy about them, but the knowledge that they concealed ancient ashes and corpses was disquieting, and Gabrielle breathed easier when they passed the necropolis and the countryside opened up around them. Tall, almost bare trees held up their many-elbowed branches to the spring warmth, greening with small leaves, and the damp grass was freckled with bright yellow dandelions.   
  
The sun began to sink, and still they marched, along the same road, with the same hypnotising, relentless monotony. Finally, when Gabrielle thought she could take no more, the column halted to make camp in a darkening, insect-noisy field.   
  
Gabrielle was at Xena's tent as soon as it was up and the guards posted. She nodded briskly at the two men as they stepped aside for her to enter, caught herself belatedly and turned back to smile at them instead, but they were not looking in her direction. A single day, and she was already accustomed to ordering men around! How was Xena going to cope with it, for weeks? What right did she have to leave Xena alone like this?   
  
"Hey."   
  
Xena was sitting on a low stool, leaning an elbow on the trestle table at her side, her legs immersed almost to the knees in a pail of steaming water. Her boots lay on the floor in a tangle of laces; she was unarmed, dressed only in her pleated tunic.   
  
"Hey, yourself," Gabrielle smiled, letting the tent flap close behind her. After the fresh outdoor air, the tent was too close and stuffy. A thickly smoking metal lamp sat on the table; its tiny flame threw patches of yellow light on Xena's face. "Mind if I join you? I think I'm out of practice, riding all day. My legs feel like lead."   
  
Xena reached over to drag another stool closer. "Be my guest."   
  
Gabrielle pulled off her boots and collapsed into the seat gratefully. She wriggled her toes in the warm water and reached down to massage some life into her calves. "Bliss," she sighed. "Another two hours and I might be able to walk again."   
  
Xena chuckled, but it was a tired sound. "I doubt we'll have that long." Gabrielle looked up in surprise. "I reminded Livia about the terms of our arrangement. Ares should be in there right now, telling her that he has no intention of looking for the missing baby personally."   
  
"So he agreed to take me to the Amazons?"   
  
Xena's head moved a fraction. "Tonight."   
  
"And he's backing up our story."   
  
"He is."   
  
The leaping light of the lamp created an illusion of movement, but Gabrielle knew that Xena's face was blank and utterly still. Briefly, she considered not asking the question she dreaded – it was hard enough to leave Xena at a time like this; hearing the price might make it impossible. But she had to know.   
  
"What is it costing us?" she said. "What does Ares want?"   
  
Xena did not blink. "Nothing."   
  
Gabrielle leaned forward and took Xena's hands in her own; to her surprise, Xena gripped them tightly. "Come on," Gabrielle coaxed softly, "Please. I can't leave until I know."   
  
There was an uncomfortable stretch of silence. Finally, Xena freed her hands. "You better get ready. There's a towel over there. I had some food brought in, too, and your pack. Ares will be here soon."   
  
"Thanks." Gabrielle made no move to get up, studying Xena's impassive face, silently pleading with her to let down her walls for just one moment. Then something occurred to her; Gabrielle narrowed her eyes. "How do you know he's not here now?"   
  
The faintest shadow of guilt passed over Xena's face and disappeared, but it had been enough.   
  
"You can sense him again, can't you?" Gabrielle demanded. "Why?"   
  
Xena shrugged. "Beats me."   
  
It was such a tiny meaningless shrug that Gabrielle knew. Worse, she realised she had always known, since the previous night, since the moment Xena had suggested asking Ares for help – but there was no denying it now.   
  
"Gods, Xena," she shook her head in dismay. She did not know who she was angry with more. Perhaps herself. "I can't... I didn't – it's too high a price, giving yourself to him..." Gabrielle cringed, it sounded melodramatic, but what was she supposed to say?! Another, horrible thought struck her: "Are you going to be with him now? Lead his armies?"   
  
"No," Xena said in a clipped tone, swinging her legs out of the water, to the pelt on the floor. She took a towel and began to rub her legs, hard enough to redden the skin. "It was sex, Gabrielle – that's all. No armies, no promises, no breakfast in bed. A one night stand, like your poet friend back in Rome."   
  
Gabrielle felt like the air had been slammed from her lungs. She stared at Xena across the now-cold water, then grit her teeth and said, "Stop it."   
  
Xena's hands paused; the towel dropped to the floor. When she looked up, her eyes were hollow and Gabrielle's anger drained away. She hopped off the seat and went to Xena's side, picked up the towel. Xena tried to stand, but Gabrielle shook her head.   
  
"Listen to me." She squatted down, wrapping the linen around Xena's feet to pat them dry. What she had to say would be easier without looking at Xena's eyes, without threatening her. "You told me once," she began in a conversational tone, "that you'd always been able to sense Ares' presence, ever since that battle when he first saw you fight." She glanced up – Xena was motionless, listening, and Gabrielle decided to take that as a good sign. "So you felt a connection, then?"   
  
There was a pause, then Xena snorted, "Sure I did. I was a warlord, he was the God of War. Bloodlust, the joy of the kill. One hell of a connection."   
  
Gabrielle nodded without looking up. "And now, you feel it again. That link with Ares."   
  
"You mean, with my darkness."   
  
Gabrielle finally rose, twisting the wet towel absently, trying to gauge Xena's reaction. "I'm afraid," she said frankly.   
  
"That Ares will win me over?"   
  
"That he already has." Awkwardly, Gabrielle looked down, not wanting to see how the words would sting her friend. She forced her eyes back to Xena's. "You've always been able to find another way, and I know the stakes have never been this high before – but last night..."   
  
Xena stood up. "You really think that one night with Ares will turn me back into what I used to be? A vicious killer?"   
  
Gabrielle cringed. "No. Just that it might make everything even more difficult. You're leading an army again – almost," she amended, "and I know how hard it is to stay sane here, to play this role and convince everyone but yourself. It affects me, too." Gabrielle recalled her own authoritative nod at the guards. She fought back the stinging in her eyes, lifted her face to Xena's. "I'm afraid to leave, to leave you," she said desperately. "But I can't stay."   
  
Xena watched her for a moment, then her face softened. "I made you a promise that I won't let anything come between us. I intend to keep it. I won't fail you, Gabrielle – and I know I can trust you not to fail me, either. If we work together, we can save Eve, and the Amazons. Can you trust me?"   
  
Gabrielle looked into the shadows on Xena's face, and saw only her friend. There was no trace of the Xena that terrified them both – the 'vicious killer', the Xena who belonged to the God of War. Whatever had happened with Ares, it hadn't broken her. Perhaps it wouldn't. Perhaps it had been yet another of those strange moments Gabrielle had long since given up on understanding, something between Xena and Ares. And it was over – she hoped.   
  
"Yeah," Gabrielle said. "Yeah, of course I trust you." She hesitated. "It's not going to be easy."   
  
Xena gave her a mock-puzzled look. "Easy? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the concept."   
  
Gabrielle eyed her suspiciously: "Was that a crack about my 'poet friend'?"   
  
Xena looked scandalised, "I wouldn't dare! You'd sneak into my tent at night and write ballads all over me. It's bad enough that all our good parchment is covered with the stuff!"   
  
Gabrielle laughed, then squeezed Xena's hand. "You have no appreciation of culture," she said, "but I love you anyway. Don't ever change."   
  
"Can I quote you on that?"   
  
"No."   
  
Xena motioned at the pack on the floor. "Better get your gear."   
  
Gabrielle nodded. "Yeah."   
  
They got everything ready in companionable silence. Gabrielle felt a restrained anticipation in the air, like taking a breath before opening an unfamiliar door. No, it wouldn't be easy – but there was a determination in Xena's bearing that was catching. It wasn't bloodlust or the craving for power that an army could awaken. It was driven by light, not darkness, by the desire to find Eve inside Livia, and to avert a senseless war. It was a good plan, and whatever her fears, it felt good to be a part of it.   
  
It did not feel so good a few minutes later, when she saw Xena tense – and the obligatory blue-silver flash left Ares standing beside her. He hadn't changed a bit, Gabrielle thought. The same black leather, the same easy posture, the same mocking glimmer in his eyes. She expected the inevitable supposedly witty one-liner, but Ares glanced at Xena, and their eyes met. Something passed between them; Gabrielle did not know what it was, only that it made her feel like she was intruding. She coughed self-consciously, and lifted her pack.   
  
"I'm ready."   
  
Ares merely nodded.   
  
Gabrielle turned to Xena, tried to look confident and knew that neither of them were succeeding in that. "It'll work," she said, "We can do it."   
  
"Get them away, into the forests, as soon as you can. If something goes wrong—"   
  
She held Xena's hands. "It won't."   
  
"Excuse me," Ares interrupted impatiently, "I appreciate the touching scene, but could we get the show on the road?"   
  
Gabrielle nodded quickly, squeezed her eyes shut for an instant and tried very hard not to think back to the one time she had asked Ares to transport her – to betray Xena in Ch'in.   
  
"Ares?" she asked tentatively.   
  
"What?"   
  
"I'm not going to owe you a favour for this one, am I?" Last time, it had nearly destroyed both Xena and herself, when Ares had called in the favour to ensure that she was the one who had to kill Hope. Gabrielle shrank away from the memories.   
  
Ares exchanged another glance with Xena, then shrugged uncomfortably. "No. We have a deal; no favours. Not this time."   
  
He did not look away, but Gabrielle noticed his jaw tense. She stared at him, trying to work out the source of his discomfort. Did he regret having forfeited a chance to use this as leverage later? Or was there something else – could memories of Dahak's threat be as hard for him as they were for Xena and herself? After all, the demotion from God of War to Dahak's lackey could not have been a pleasant experience. Not that he didn't deserve it.   
  
"Why ..." she began, but got no chance to finish the thought – a sense of vertigo gripped her, she struggled futilely against it, but it was already pulling her in, tearing her apart, and Gabrielle whirled and tumbled in it, unable to breathe enough for a scream... Then the rich dark smells of earth and spring grass engulfed her, her feet hit something solid and she collapsed to the ground.   
  
Twigs were digging into her palms and knees. Gabrielle fought down dry heaves, trying to still her head. There was just enough moonlight to see, but she didn't need to look around to know exactly where she was.   
  


* * *

  
  
Xena blinked at the twin spots of fading brightness where a moment ago, Ares and Gabrielle had been. She was gone. Gabrielle was gone. Xena dropped onto her stool and looked down at the water in the basin, blackness shimmering orange in the lamplight. What had she done? Entrusted Gabrielle's life into the hands of Ares, of all people! He could have taken her anywhere...   
  
Xena leapt to her feet, whirled around. "Ares!"   
  
The flash was piercing white in the tent.   
  
"All done." Ares dusted off his hands in theatrical self-satisfaction and spread his arms wide – "Bye-bye, blondie."   
  
Xena's suspicion exploded into rage – so much for the deal! She grabbed his vest and hissed, "Let me see her, Ares. Right now."   
  
Ares made a point of looking down at her hands, then raised his eyes and tilted his head quizzically. Xena felt her cheeks burn and dropped her hands. "Show me Gabrielle."   
  
"You still don't trust me." There was something wounded in his tone; it only angered Xena more. Ares repeated, "She's fine."   
  
"Prove it."   
  
He made a mocking little bow and waved at the water in the basin on the floor. Its surface wavered, becoming glassy smooth, and resolved into hills of blue-green moonlit forest, rolling into the distance. Suspiciously, Xena watched the view descend. Treetops gave way to branches and the thick mossy trunks of ancient conifers. Watching, she sank deeper, to the underbrush and the carpet of pine needles on the forest floor, where moonlight was replaced by shadows.   
  
And there was Gabrielle. She advanced cautiously, sais strapped to her boots, looking up at the trees. She stopped, listening – then clasped her hands over her head in the Amazon gesture of peace. An instant later, the trees around her burst into life; four armed women dropped to the forest floor to surround her. Xena did not recognise their tribal marks, but evidently this was an Amazon patrol. Gabrielle kept her hands clasped. She wasn't letting her nervousness show, Xena noted with approval. After what seemed like an age, the patrol leader, a tall dark-haired girl, lifted her own hands, and clasped them. The others followed—   
  
The portal rippled into water, and the image broke apart, replaced by Ares' smug reflection. "Satisfied?"   
  
"Bring it back. They're going to take Gabrielle into the vill—" Xena broke off when she realised the water was steaming.   
  
"You know, we could put it to better use." Ares' voice was suddenly quiet, the smugness gone from it as completely as if he had removed a mask. Xena looked up in surprise. He met her eyes squarely. When she said nothing, he waved away the image in the water, breaking it into ripples of lamplight. Xena sat, and felt Ares take her bare feet, and then the renewed warmth of the water. All the wrong feelings woke up in her – but she was not letting this happen again...   
  
"Ares..." She took a breath to demand that he stop, but it caught in her throat. Ares knelt across from her against the basin, the steam gathering in droplets on his brows and along his eyelashes, shimmering on his cheeks. If she leaned forward and touched it, it would trickle over his cheekbones, into his mouth...   
  
She nearly jumped when he touched her thigh. He glanced up at her, then ran his hands down the length of her leg, his gaze following the movement. Xena tried halfheartedly to pull away, but her legs were so sore, and Ares' hands were much warmer than the water. She tried not to close her eyes, not to accept the dissolving tension in her muscles.   
  
He paused to take off his gauntlets, and Xena nearly caught the moment – but his hands returned, and the words came out breathless, without the impatience she'd intended. "What do you think you're doing?"   
  
Ares looked up without releasing her, the flame of the lamp dancing in his dark eyes. He touched the underside of her knees, then sent his fingers higher. "What does it feel like?"   
  
"Bring back..." Xena bit down a gasp, "Bring back the portal. I want to see Gabrielle."   
  
Ares lifted both her feet out of the water to plant a kiss on an ankle. The light scratch of his goatee shocked Xena's heat-softened skin, drawing another gasp. He kissed her other ankle. "Mm... She wasn't part of the deal."   
  
"Neither was this." Xena tore her foot back, afraid of the small regret that nudged her cooling skin. She stepped out onto the floor, dripping water onto Ares' discarded gauntlets. He followed her up. Xena faced him.   
  
"What happened last night was business, Ares – that's all. It changes nothing. I'm not coming back to you, I'm not leading your armies, and I'm not going to be your Warrior Queen."   
  
Ares held her gaze for a moment, then stepped closer. A peculiar intensity in his eyes made Xena pause. He took her hand.   
  
"What if I told you I don't want a Warrior Queen anymore? That I only want you."   
  
She began to respond, sarcastically, but Ares raised his voice to speak over her, "Just hear me out! Xena..." He stopped, started again. "I'm – having urges, ones I'm not real proud of... This is not your standard god obsession, okay? I want to be with you – I have feelings for you—"   
  
"Stop it," Xena pulled away, her temples throbbing, her lip curling incredulously. "Stop this—"   
  
"I care about you, dammit! I see your face everywhere," Ares was speaking so fast she could barely make out the words, "I can't stop thinking—"   
  
"Stop it!" Xena snapped, cutting him off. "You're so desperate, you're trying to convince me that you love me?" The sudden image of her daughter straddling him on the Roman couch, kissing his mouth, rose in her vividly. She felt ill. "The time for you and me has been and gone."   
  
Ares swallowed, looked like he wanted to say something – then straightened his back, drawing himself up. One corner of his mouth twitched into a crooked grin. "Well, it was worth a shot, anyway. I thought with the blonde gone, you might be a bit more... easy-going."   
  
Xena felt her eyes widen, the breath knocked from her. The bastard... She should have guessed he'd try to turn this to his advantage! She tasted bitterness in her mouth. "I knew all your talk was lies."   
  
He lifted his eyebrows a fraction. "You're wrong. I promised I won't tell Livia about you; that was the deal. As for seeing Gabrielle, or anything else..." He stepped back from her. "You know who to call."   
  
In the empty tent, the swoosh of the closing aether seemed strangely loud.   
  
Xena's legs buckled. She sat down on the floor next to the basin, drawing up her knees. The water was no longer steaming. She ran her fingers over the cool surface, disturbing it. Beneath it, everything was dark once again; the ripples of her reflection were fractured and confused, and formed nothing. A gleam of silver caught her eye. She turned her head and saw Ares' gauntlets, lying where he'd discarded them, the rubies in the worked metal winking like droplets of frozen blood. Xena picked up a gauntlet and turned it over in her hands, then slipped it on. She wasn't quite sure why she did it, and it vanished, melting away into nothingness, before she'd have to give it much thought. Instead, she thought of her daughter. 


	2. Chapter 2

  
  
  


Another Way

  
  


_All this rebirth  
  
in spring's festivity  
  
and spring's power   
  
bids us to rejoice;  
  
it shows us paths we know well,   
  
and in your springtime   
  
it is true and right   
  
to keep what is yours. Love me faithfully!   
  
See how I am faithful:  
  
With all my heart   
  
and with all my soul,  
  
I am with you   
  
even when I am far away.  
  
Whosoever loves this much  
  
turns on the wheel [of Fortune]. _  
  
Carmina Burana, "Primo Vere: Omnia Sol Temperat"

  
  
  
  
Via Appia, the Appian Way. A road ringing with history and military glory, cutting a sharp line across the Italian peninsula, from Rome to the sprawling port-city of Brundisium in the south. It was ironic, Livia reflected, that a road leading away from Rome should be bringing her closer to it with every step – closer to her goals with every click of her horse's hooves, with every beat of the drums. Livia, Empress of Rome. It had a music all its own.   
  
She glanced up, taking in the familiar countryside – green meadows bright with morning dew, tall lines of trees, and between them, the dusty arrow of the Via Appia. Her legates rode a little way behind her, and the column of legionaries snaked after them, tapering into the distance.   
  
Only one thing was missing: Ares. Of course, Ares wouldn't normally concern himself with these early stages of a campaign; he'd wait for battles, for blood. He had that luxury. He was obviously not going to turn up just for her. Livia found it thoroughly irritating that he had lost any interest he'd had in her as a woman ever since Semra's arrival... But on the other hand, she had no intention of becoming a notch on his immortal scoreboard. She was Livia, Champion of Rome, not a pretty toy to be used and discarded. He couldn't humiliate her.   
  
In fact, Livia decided that there was a great deal of pleasure in the knowledge that she controlled what Ares so obviously desired: Semra. And, to add to the fun, it was equally obvious that Semra had absolutely no interest in him, beyond using him for her own purposes – and Livia was using them both! This campaign was shaping up wonderfully.   
  
"Semra," Livia called over her shoulder. "Ride with me."   
  
One set of hoofbeats became louder and quicker, and then Semra appeared at her right hand side, foreign-looking despite the Roman armour and the white horse.   
  
"We'll be in Brundisium by nightfall," Livia said with some satisfaction. "We're making good time."   
  
No reply was required, and Semra made none, simply acknowledging the news. Livia smiled, pleased. Over the two weeks of the march she had developed a grudging admiration for the woman. She'd proved herself both capable and experienced in the needs of an army – a boon, freeing Livia from the tedium of minor problems. She never wasted words, and the sharp mind behind those piercing eyes caught the essence of any plan almost before Livia could voice it. A pity she had to be handed back to the Amazons.   
  
Livia squinted and pointed to a rocky hillock in the distance. "See that oak? The one with the split trunk, where lightning struck it."   
  
"If you climbed it, you'd see all the way to the sea."   
  
Livia turned, surprised. "Have you been here before?"   
  
A slight smile touched Semra's eyes. "No. But I've always been good at reading the terrain." She took a slow breath. "And there's salt in the air. We're getting close."   
  
Livia fell silent, remembering the holiday her family had dragged her on, and how the one relief from the endless dinner parties was Marcus's unexpected arrival. He had taken her up to the hill and she had climbed the tree and stared out to sea, listening to his old soldier's stories of foreign lands and barbaric tribes...   
  
Aloud, she said, "We sail for Dyrrachium tomorrow, with the First legion. The others will follow, and then we march." She scrutinised Semra's drawn face, the wind flicking stray locks of black hair into her eyes. "Are you sure you're up to this, Amazon? Fighting for Rome?"   
  
Semra's hands tightened on the reins, and Livia thrilled at the convulsive gesture. It was like taming an exotic and dangerous animal: never turn your back, stay in control. Oh, she was enjoying this immensely!   
  
"It's not too late to back down," Livia said solicitously. "Of course, you understand I'd have to kill the child when she's found; she's part of our bargain. But you could always have another."   
  
Fire flashed in Semra's eyes. "I will get my daughter back." Her low growl was barely audible against the hoofbeats. "Whatever the cost."   
  
Livia turned a triumphant grin to the distant hill, with its pathetic broken tree, then looked back at Semra, rigid in the saddle.   
  
"Vengeance, Semra. Remember what Rome is giving you, a chance to have your revenge on the people who took her away from you. Never lose sight of what you're fighting for."   
  
Semra's posture eased marginally. "No," she said, "I'm fighting for a future."   
  
"Your daughter's future with Rome."   
  
Semra looked away. "My daughter's future."   
  


* * *

  
  
She had known from the first that convincing the Amazons of her identity would be a struggle against the combined forces of common sense and superstition. Common sense said she could not be Gabrielle and look so young. Superstition said that she could, did, and had probably sold her soul to the appropriate deity for the privilege. Someone had even accused her of stealing their ritual ambrosia. Luckily, a few of the older women remembered her and believed her story, as close to the truth as she dared to tell them. Eve was dead, and she and Xena had been asleep for twenty-five years, saved by the power of Lao Ma back on that beach.   
  
Well, 'believed' wasn't quite the word for it. More like were forced to accept it. And that, only after Gabrielle had subjected herself to a purification ritual to ward off evil spirits, and had then gone up against two Amazon warriors in hand-to-hand combat, proving beyond all doubt that she was only mortal. The bruises still hurt, and there was a barely-healed gash on her forehead, but at least she'd managed to convince them. She'd just had no idea that that would be the easy part.   
  
She had been expecting to see her tribe, a generation older, but unchanged in every way that mattered. Now, that expectation seemed silly – why should the Amazons not change along with the rest of the world? And change they had.   
  
Gabrielle looked about, still not quite able to believe it. Around her, on the circle of low stools set in a spacious, torch-lit meeting hut, sat about twenty other women. They looked as different from each other as was humanly possible while still remaining the same in essence: Amazon queens. Queens of distant Northern tribes in their tunics of embroidered deerskin; tribes from further South, with their traditional markings and beaded ornaments; tribes from the banks of the Herbrus, the Thermodon and the shores of the Euxine Sea; others Gabrielle had never even seen before... And her.   
  
"Queen Gabrielle?" Marga's calm eyes rested on Gabrielle; she tried not to fidget.   
  
"In attendance," she said, relieved at the even tone of her voice. Marga was one of the few who did remember her, though she had been only a child the last time Gabrielle had seen her. It was beyond strange to see her as a woman older and probably far wiser than herself. There was a serenity in Marga's deep brown eyes that Gabrielle could not help but envy.   
  
"Queen Cyane?"   
  
A blonde woman on her left, with gentle blue eyes and a button-small nose replied, "I'm here."   
  
"Queen Prothoë?"   
  
And so it went on, around the circle. Gabrielle clenched her hands in her lap, feeling a thousand times an impostor. Who was she to represent a tribe she barely knew? It was true that the law was on her side. She was their rightful queen; Marga had handed her the Mask of Queenhood by her own decision, and seemingly without rancour. But Marga's age meant that she had been nearing the end of her term as queen in any case. It was her protégé, Varia, who was suddenly deprived of the certainty of succeeding Marga as queen. Gabrielle could hardly blame Varia for not taking the news well. She sent a brief apologetic glance over her shoulder to the young dark-haired woman, seated behind her, outside the circle of chairs allotted to members of the Council. Varia's acknowledgement gave away nothing. Gabrielle turned back into the circle, sighing. Well, at least they'd let her attend.   
  
Satisfied with the roll-call, Marga spoke. "Before we begin this meeting, I would like to caution you – sisters, this is not a war council." Gabrielle felt the others' curious eyes on her, but only nodded at Marga.   
  
"Nor," Marga went on, "Is this the time and place to discuss tribal disputes." This time, her caution was directed past Gabrielle, at Varia. "My tribe has accepted Gabrielle as our rightful queen, having received her right of caste from Terreis, as confirmed by the late Regent-Queen Ephiny at the time of the coronation. With Gabrielle's consent, our former Queen-in-Waiting, Varia, retains the command of our warriors."   
  
"We know all that," said a red-haired woman whom Gabrielle had heard addressed as Prothoë. She was too tall to sit comfortably on the stool, her long legs were crossed at the ankles in front of her, revealing winding patterns of henna on her calves and shins. "We have already welcomed Gabrielle as your queen," she said impatiently, "What we want to know is why you have called this council so soon after the last eclipse."   
  
"And why not Gabrielle herself?" added Cyane, queen of one of the Northern tribes. She had an air of integrity that the others seemed to admire; certainly the other two Northern queens appeared to defer to her despite her youth.   
  
Marga raised a hand for silence. "I've called this meeting on behalf of Queen Gabrielle, who is still familiarising herself with our new customs. She claims to have some important information which concerns not just our tribe, but every Amazon." Marga turned to her. "Gabrielle?"   
  
There were murmurs of interest, and Gabrielle felt her mouth go dry. She had to get this right. She stood up, trying to make the motion appear fluid and dignified.   
  
"Sisters," she began, "I am honoured to be given voice at this council, and to be accepted again as an Amazon queen. You already know how I come to be here, looking like this." She waved a hand over herself, smiling a little. "But I haven't come here to reclaim my title."   
  
A surprised voice from one of the Thracians: "Why are you here, then?"   
  
Gabrielle turned so that she could see the speaker: a middle-aged queen, black-haired and wiry. "I accepted this position in order to call this council. A great danger approaches, a danger to the whole Amazon nation."   
  
Prothoë rolled her eyes. "Speak plainly, Gabrielle. We have no time for the poetic version."   
  
"I'm speaking as plainly as I can," said Gabrielle pleasantly, irked by the woman's tone. "I come here from Rome." That bought her total silence. Gabrielle studied each stunned look. "Not just from Rome – but from the Roman army."   
  
"An army?" breathed Prothoë, all insolence gone from her voice.   
  
"Four legions of veteran troops, blooded in Gaul and Germania. Marching across Italy even as we speak, in our direction."   
  
Someone cursed. Others just shook their heads. "If it is as you say," said one of the women finally, "They can be here less than two eclipses from now."   
  
"Exactly." Gabrielle exhaled in relief – they were taking it seriously. Truthfully, she added, "There were rumours in Rome about an attack on the Amazons." She hoped it sounded like a good enough reason for her supposed spying efforts. "Xena and I saw the preparations and enlisted. Xena is trying to turn them back, but it's not an easy task: she needs time – time we have to give her. If we help her, she can succeed."   
  
"How certain are you that their goal is the Amazon territories?" asked Cyane with a frown. "They may be on the move to replace the garrisons on the eastern borders of the Empire."   
  
"Which are getting a little too close for comfort these days," Marga lamented, sitting down on her stool on Gabrielle's right. "I say there is every chance that Gabrielle is correct. The Romans are coming."   
  
Gabrielle shot her a grateful look, before continuing her speech. "I swear to you on my right of caste that I'm speaking the truth. I came here as soon as I knew..." Her knees were weak, she sat down.   
  
Why hadn't she finished the words she'd prepared? She was supposed to ask them to retreat into the forests, to safety! If Xena could not stop the attack before the Romans reached the Amazon territories, the plan was to persuade Livia that a drawn-out campaign in the forests was against her interests. But if they wouldn't retreat... Gabrielle stole a glance at Varia behind her. The woman remained silent. A torch behind her turned her glossy dark hair bronze, hiding her eyes. When they wouldn't retreat, Gabrielle amended to herself.   
  
"We must decide on a course of action," said Marga when the exclamations had subsided into a low anxious hum. "But whatever the decision, it has to be made for the entire nation. If we are to face Rome, we must do so as one."   
  
"How much do you know of their strategy?" Cyane asked Gabrielle, and others nodded, pleased by the question. "Were you able to copy any battle plans?"   
  
Gabrielle shook her head, "No. But I saw... enough. Their maps are out of date, the Romans haven't heard about the tribes uniting." And if they had, she thought, her and Xena's plan might have been different... Should have been different. It was no longer the might of the Romans against a few scattered tribes. This was a nation, a warlike nation that probably commanded a combined army no smaller than the four legions marching towards it – and in all likelihood, much larger.   
  
And now that the shock was wearing off, they were getting angry.   
  
Gabrielle gulped, wishing she'd had a way to send a message to Xena before calling the council. Asking these women to retreat from their land suddenly seemed about as clever as politely asking the Romans to go home, and about as likely to succeed.   
  
"I'm not a queen, but I do lead the warriors of my tribe."   
  
Varia spoke up for the first time; all eyes turned to her. Gabrielle moved her seat out of the way as Varia strode past her and into the centre of the circle. Was that what she was supposed to have done? Too late now.   
  
Varia turned slowly, looking at each woman in turn.   
  
"I'm not afraid," she said, "And neither should be any of you." Her voice rose, gathering strength, and a hard glint appeared in her dark eyes. "What are four Roman legions against the might of the Amazon nation? The great Roman Empire fears us enough to try to bring us to our knees." She shot Marga a jubilant look and her voice soared. "We knew it would happen sooner or later! So let's show them that they are right to fear us. Are we going to meekly wait for them to come to us? For Xena to rescue us, like a bunch of helpless villagers? No! No Roman will set foot on our lands. If we combine our forces, Rome will fall before us. Against the Amazon nation, Rome is nothing!" She raised her fists – "Strength to the Amazon nation!"   
  
There was a pause, then – "Strength to the Amazon nation!" someone shouted, and within moments, the chant had engulfed the tent. Gabrielle looked around the beaming faces in the red torchlight, frantically trying to work out how to stop this, how to prevent a war, but it was too late – even Marga had joined in the battle call now – "Strength to the Amazon nation! Death to Rome!" – and Gabrielle knew she had lost. They would never contend themselves with fortifications and strategic retreats. No war of defence was going to satisfy them now.   
  
She looked at Varia, and was surprised by how calm the Amazon seemed underneath the shouts. She'd been waiting for this, Gabrielle realised. This was her chance at glory. She wanted to defeat this Roman army – but what then? How far would Varia go?   
  
Gabrielle summoned all her strength and stood up. She took a breath and pitched her voice to carry over the shouts. "I'd like to speak!"   
  
She waited for something approximating silence, trembling in the charged atmosphere. Careful now... "I agree with Varia," she said slowly, "We must join forces – every tribe's warriors, formed into a combined army." She weighed up the nods of approval, then plunged in. "Sisters, I ask you for command of our army. I know Rome. I can lead us to victory."   
  
Almost before the words were out, Varia was shouting over her – "As do I! Are you going to give command of this war to a newcomer, a woman who knows nothing of our customs? I can win this war for all our sisters!"   
  
"Silence!" snapped Marga, also rising from her seat.   
  
All noise ceased. The tension in the air thickened until Gabrielle was fighting for each breath. If she could not prevent this war, she had to control it, it was her one and only chance. Varia's fists were clenched, but she did not move from her spot in the centre. Gabrielle met her gaze and remained where she was.   
  
Marga said, "Varia is a fine war-leader. But she is not a queen, nor is she familiar with the Romans and their ways – indeed, none of us are. To win this war, we must think like the enemy." Apologetically, she added to Gabrielle, "We can't rely on Xena to save us. We must fight our own battles."   
  
"Tradition says that a queen must lead us in war," said the red-haired Prothoë. Gabrielle tensed under her scrutiny, but did not flinch. There was no way back now.   
  
Prothoë continued, "It's your tribe's turn to lead the Council, Marga, so by law it is your Queen's command. But if your warriors" – she nodded at Varia – "don't think Gabrielle is up to the task, you could always forfeit to another tribe." The other Amazons muttered agreements, heads bent to whisper together, appraising eyes on Gabrielle. Prothoë gestured around the circle. "Any of us would be pleased to assume command."   
  
Gabrielle returned the woman's probing stare with steel she had not realised she possessed. "I may not have spent my life in the Amazon lands, Prothoë, but I am a true Amazon. I'm an outsider, not a foreigner – but I understand foreigners; Romans. I came here ready to do anything I had to do to save my tribe, and my people." She spoke over the lump in her throat. "I still am."   
  
The pressure eased visibly; Prothoë backed down and the others looked at Gabrielle with a new respect. Gabrielle allowed herself a slow breath. "Varia has experience with leading Amazon warriors," she said. Varia looked up sharply at the mention of her name. Gabrielle smiled a little and went on, "And she was instrumental in uniting the tribes with Marga. I can think of no one better to share my command. If, that is, she'll accept the post."   
  
Varia's scowl softened into disbelief at first – then something like appreciation. Gabrielle looked at her in a hopeful question, and Varia nodded fractionally, the corners of her mouth tight. "I accept," she said.   
  
Gabrielle stepped forward and clasped hands with Varia, raising their arms in salute. "Strength to the Amazon nation!" she shouted – and then everyone was on their feet, taking down torches from the walls, cheering with them. "Strength to the Amazon nation! Death to Rome!"   
  


* * *

  
  
Ares was beginning to feel invisible. Oh, he was invisible, but he'd never really felt it before, not around Xena. She rode with Livia at the head of the largest army this side of the Adriatic, staring dead ahead as though she could already see the docks of Brundisium over the horizon. Behind the horses, the column marched through bright spring countryside, raising thick clouds of white dust that shone in the noon sunlight. The clouds made Xena look like a Valkyrie; a stern-faced warrior riding across the sky, splendid and cold in the thunder of hoofbeats. Ares didn't know how she managed to look so distant when he was right there beside her, close enough to lead her horse by the reins. The infuriating thing was that she did sense his presence, he could tell from the careful way she avoided so much as a glance in his direction. She'd been doing it since the night he took Gabrielle to the Amazons. Perhaps he had been a tad overzealous in trying to get her to reconsider the one-night deal, he thought grudgingly – but what was he supposed to do? Wait until she died again?   
  
He drove himself crazy just watching Xena ignore him. He'd heard of the poor sucker in Hades who was doomed to spend eternity tormented by hunger and thirst, standing in a stream that would recede the moment he bent to drink, surrounded by fruit trees that would raise their branches the moment he reached up for an apple. This was worse. Much worse. He had the memories of Xena in his arms; the hot sweetness of her mouth and the tickle of her hair falling against his cheek, the sparkle in her eyes as she drew back to let him watch her – so beautiful she took away his breath. He recalled her sigh when she'd slept beside him afterwards and he stroked her hair, filled with the delicious fear that she could wake and catch him at it. With a pang, he recalled the moment he first saw her at the bacchanalia, when the veil fell from her face and their eyes met, and he knew with dizzying certainty that it was no fantasy, that it was real: Xena was back.   
  
Not that it made any difference. She kept looking right through him.   
  
Ares fell back to walk alongside the Roman horse, then lifted his hand to touch the back of Xena's leg. His fingers skimmed her warm bare skin, from the edge of the saddle to her boot. Xena did not move. He could have been a ghost.   
  
He'd kept his promise to back up her story, he even took Gabrielle to the Amazons as an added bonus. And this was the thanks he got? Ares moved away and let the horses pass him. To Tartarus with it! If Xena wanted to ignore him, that was fine by him; two could play that game. Besides, he had an advantage. Xena wanted to see Gabrielle. He didn't – but he could.   
  
Irritably, the God of War transported himself to the Amazon lands.   
  
When she was certain he was gone, Xena loosened her grip on the reins, cautiously letting down the barriers in her mind, trying to relax. She took a deep breath. Ares was doing a damn good job of trying to wear her down: staying beside her, filling her awareness, forcing her thoughts to return to him again and again. She could not ignore him.   
  
She had a wild impulse to call him back. To ask how Gabrielle was doing. Not for the first time, Xena decided against it.   
  


* * *

  
  
The Amazon village was alive. That was Ares' overriding impression the moment he found himself there. When he'd seen it last, the place had been little more than collection of dusty brown huts, a crudely dug well, and a couple of practice rings where Amazons like Varia could pummel each other to their hearts' content. Now, it looked more like the headquarters of an army. Amazons scuttled back and forth, looking invariably busy and preoccupied. The meeting hut had been dismantled; in its place stood a large five-sided tent, cured hides stretched over a wooden framework. The walls tapered up to a peak at the centre of the roof, where a red-and-green banner was raised. It was probably supposed to sail in the wind heroically instead of flapping weakly in the midday warmth like it did, but the idea was definitely there. The Amazon nation had become a reality. And, judging from the aggressively temporary structures peppering the former village, it would not be long before this reality was on the move.   
  
To one side of the command tent, a few dozen Amazons wearing plain brown armour were sparring in a fenced-off clearing strewn with sawdust. Some fought with staffs or blunted swords, others practiced hand-to-hand. Ares watched them for a moment, then stepped into the ring.   
  
He walked unseen among the sparring women, only half-listening to the sounds of wood connecting with flesh, the jeers, and the grunts of effort. The urgency of purpose in their movements was like a tantalising scent, reminding him of the power of battles. He watched a tall middle-aged Amazon with hard eyes parry the sloppier strikes of two younger women. Their staffs collided, creaking and shuddering briefly before flying apart again. "Again!" the elder Amazon ordered, and lunged. Ares wondered what Xena would do if he showed her this.   
  
"Sisters!"   
  
Ares glanced up along with the Amazons to the source of the voice. It took him another moment to convince himself that the woman he saw was Gabrielle, framed by the doorway of the command tent. She wore close-fitting armour of fine reddish leather, beaded and ornamented Amazon-style. Blood-dark lines angled along her cheekbones, two on each side of her face – war signs. Her hair was tied back in a multitude of short thin braids that sat close to her scalp, a few criss-crossed with leather twine and beads. She held what Ares at first thought looked suspiciously like a turkey driven over by a cart, with inky feathers sticking out in all directions. When Gabrielle came closer, Ares realised it was the Mask of Queenhood.   
  
The training ceased, staffs clattering, backs straightening up.   
  
"Sisters." Gabrielle jumped over the barrier into the ring, landing lightly in the trampled sawdust. "I need scouts to go south, to check the way to Themiscyra."   
  
"I'll go," several voices came at once, and others joined them. There were quick exchanged queries, scouting parties forming spontaneously. Gabrielle walked around, selecting volunteers, thanking them. Under the war-paint, her face was pinched and pale.   
  
Ares left her to it. He felt unaccountably annoyed, given that this war was going better than he could have dreamed. Once in the white-hot vortex of aether, he floated for a moment, gritting his teeth against the swirling tug of it on his body, eyes shut to its brightness. The aether fought his indecision, wanting to take him somewhere, to dislodge the intruder. Where did he want to be?   
  
He could go to Xena. Ares steadied himself when that thought nearly landed him there. He could go to Xena. If she wanted to see Gabrielle, he'd show her Gabrielle – and the Amazons, the united tribes, the unmistakable signs of a nation readying for war instead of the planned retreat?..   
  
No. He couldn't show her Gabrielle.   
  
Besides, Ares decided, he had other things to do. Like Xena had said – this wasn't part of the deal.   
  
He snapped his hold on the aether, and opened his eyes.   
  


* * *

  
  
The brightness faded, leaving him in the dim interior of a large, dusty tower room. The walls were of massive grey stones set close-seamed in the old way, and hung with thick, moth-eaten tapestries of ancient battles. Sunlight slanted in through narrow high windows, smoke and ash particles swirling visibly where they passed through the light. There were muffled sounds coming from outside; far below, someone was screaming, and fire-arrows hissed and thudded into wood and flesh. The windows were too high for observation, but Ares didn't need them. He felt the battle inside him, the awareness of it a familiar weight in his body. Someone was taking the city.   
  
He was about to go down to check out the action, when the tapestries caught his eye. Those things took serious liberties with history, he thought, coming closer to peer at the stylised, angular depictions of amber-on-black warriors in various stages of undress. He did not recall the Battle of Corinth being fought in the buff. Why did artists always do that, anyway? He made a mental note to rib Athena about it someday – weaving was, after all, her thing.   
  
One of the figures made him pause. There was something familiar in the turn of the woman's woven face as she raised a spear, and in her dark, flowing hair. Xena? Ares felt his heart speed up, an unaccustomed burning in his face. He realised with astonishment that it angered him, thinking that others could see this tapestry and assume that they knew her, that she had been just some barbarian, riding into battle naked. He'd have to set it straight. But how many other tapestries were there? And how many more would be there after she was gone – really gone? The time would come when he'd be the only one left who could remember her the way she really was...   
  
Ares pointed at the tapestry and torched it. It left a smoking black circle on the wall. Around it, the last few singed threads fluttered in confusion and drifted slowly to the floor, before being flung upwards in a sudden draught.   
  
He turned just in time to see the heavy wooden door swing open.   
  
"Mavican," he greeted the blonde armed woman who halted on the threshold in surprise. "Long time, no see."   
  
In fact, he had no idea how many years had passed since their first and last meeting. Probably four or five, though she hadn't had her own army then – just a band of thugs with nothing to do and no combat skills to speak of. They hadn't exactly been a memorable experience, and with her wild hair, painted eyes and near-constant sneer, neither had Mavican. From what Ares could see, she hadn't changed a bit.   
  
But at least Mavican didn't dare ignore him.   
  
Her grey eyes darted to the charred wall behind him. Nonchalantly, Ares plucked a burnt thread from his vest and flicked it to the floor. "I've been ... appreciating your newly acquired art collection. I trust you don't object to losing the Battle of Corinth."   
  
Mavican's uncertainty turned into a knowing smirk; she sauntered towards him, hips swinging in her short tunic of black leather. "Object to it?" She was practically purring. "Not at all; Ares – I'm flattered! When years ago the legendary Xena lost that battle, she won your alliance. I knew you'd want history to repeat itself one day. That tapestry's been on its way out from the moment I saw it. It's time the Warrior Princess made way for the new generation."   
  
"I wouldn't write her off yet."   
  
Mavican shot him a startled glance. "Xena's been dead for years."   
  
Ares cursed himself – of course, she could not know! Well, he wasn't going to enlighten her. "Xena lives on in the pages of history," he said smoothly, looking solemn.   
  
"History is written by the victors. That is why I'm writing my own." Mavican's sneer grew a shade more obvious, "Even Xena didn't think of that."   
  
Ares eyed her impassively as she eased herself closer. "No, Xena relied on her bard."   
  
"And I'll only rely on you," Mavican promised huskily, taking another step forward. "Xena didn't have the guts to reach out and take everything you offered her. I do."   
  
"Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?"   
  
"Hardly. This," she flicked a hand at the bare room, "this is just a start. Next, I'm marching on Athens. Then Corinth, Sparta, Mycenae... I'm not just going to surpass Xena, I'm going to destroy her. She did some good work, but..." Mavican looked him in the eye, a direct invitation. "I'm not Xena."   
  
He wanted her suddenly, badly, wanted to crush her and mark her and make her scream. "You're right," he said, and pushed her back against the charred wall, smudging her coarse blonde hair black. He picked a blackened strand and stroked it, so that Mavican shuddered in delight. Then he entangled his fingers in her hair and yanked it down, raising her face to his.   
  
"You're not Xena," he said – and kissed her.   
  
But it didn't help.   
  
Neither Mavican with her ambitions of ruling Greece, nor any of the hundreds of minor wars around the Aegean and Asia Minor could keep him occupied. He gave up on Mavican after two nights; her pale soft curves only served to remind him acutely of Xena's lithe body and honey-warm skin, and bedding her was a sophisticated torture of comparisons. When he went to check on other warlords and other wars, the awareness of Rome and the Amazons became a constant pressure in his mind, like a humming noise that would not cease, and he found he could not keep his attention on the field.   
  
Only once did he manage to forget all about Xena. Ironically, it happened because of her – or rather, because of Mavican's unrelenting obsession with her destiny to take Xena's place at his side. At first, Ares was only aware of a new battle starting, somewhere in the vicinity of Athens. It was not particularly promising, and he probably would not have paid it any more attention if he had not heard a woman's shrill cry, proclaiming herself as his chosen warrior.   
  
Irritated by her presumption, Ares transported himself to the battlefield, choosing a barren outcrop of red stone as his vantage point – and found Mavican, sporting the colours of a general and busy giving orders to an army larger by far than anything he remembered her commanding. Clearly, their failed interlude had only fuelled her determination. To Ares' surprise, she was actually doing well; better than well – she was winning. The battle had turned in her favour, and while she did not have the style or the grace of a superb commander, she was more than holding her own against the Athenian troops. It was near noon; the sun beat down mercilessly, drenching every man in sticky sweat and slicking sword-hilts, but Mavican's army advanced and advanced, while the Athenians continued to lose ground, leaving behind arrow-pierced corpses, like debris from a retreating tide.   
  
Ares was so engrossed in this unexpected turn of events that the arrival of reinforcements surprised him alsmost as much as it surprised Mavican. The Mycenean army attacked her troops from the rear, striking unerringly at the weakest sections of her defences, spreading panic. Peering into the glare of steel, Ares saw that they were led by Ilainus. He sighed. Of course, how could Athena's Champion let her goddess's city be threatened? And just as things promised to get interesting!   
  
The Myceneans wrapped up Mavican with apparent ease; her battle-weary men were no match for Ilainus' fresh troops, and the Athenians' fighting ability seemed to have lifted with their spirits. Squeezed between two aggressively advancing fronts, Mavican's men simply threw down their weapons and ran, trampling each other in the haste. It was a rout. But that wasn't the worst part.   
  
The worst part came after that, when the Myceneans and the Athenians had joined in triumph and Ares saw the telltale gold flash that left Athena standing beside Ilainus. He realised only a moment later that his sister remained invisible to all other eyes. The goddess and her Champion talked like equals among thousands of oblivious mortals, and Ares felt he could not look away. What was between them excluded all others. Then Athena lifted her hand to stroke Ilainus' face, and the mortal caught her hand and kissed it with such obvious, unfeigned hunger that Ares fled to Olympus and threw himself into his throne, feeling sour and lonely and angry with all the world. And the worst part was that he missed Xena, worse than ever before.   
  
That night, the first of the Roman fleet reached the port of Dyrrachium.   
  
  
  


For The Good Of The Nation

  
  


_Thou, though, O Roman, consider as thy task the ruling of nations,  
  
This be thine art: to found and to foster a law that is peaceful,  
  
Sparing the vanquished and vanquishing any who dare oppose thee._  
  
Virgil, "Aeneid"

  
  
  
  
Xena and Livia stood together on the terrace of a nobleman's villa, its white marble a brilliant contrast to the blue sea that opened before it, and the endlessly clear sky above. A stiff breeze blew salt into Xena's face, but she had no wish to go indoors and face the nobleman's gaggle of curious guests. There was too much to think about.   
  
The sea passage had been short and uneventful, just as Livia had predicted. The Adriatic was calm this time of year, and the transports sailing from Brundisium had deposited the first legion of Roman troops in Dyrrachium harbour without any difficulties. Now all Livia had to do was wait for the remainder of the army to be ferried across, and she had spared no effort in commanding all the available ships to this end. When Brundisium could not yield enough transports, extra ships had been brought around from the port of Tarentum, and a number of merchant vessels in port had been borrowed for the use of the army.   
  
It was this 'borrowing' that currently occupied Xena's mind. She turned to look at her daughter. Livia had shaded her eyes with a hand, watching the sails on the horizon. She was unarmed, dressed in pale flowing robes and sandals, just as Xena herself was – here, in this house, they were simply guests. Armour belonged on the field. The other officers lodged with less prominent nobles, and the bulk of the legion contended itself with inns. Sure, it was nothing out of the ordinary – an army stationed in a city, the high command lodging with a Roman citizen... No more extraordinary than, say, taking a merchant's ship and using it to transport soldiers, without regard for how it might disrupt his trade. But of course, 'Semra' had no reason to object. Not for the first time, Xena wondered if she could have found a different role.   
  
Livia sensed Xena's eyes on her and turned, blinking quickly to dispel the glare of the sea. "Is something wrong?"   
  
Xena realised she had been frowning and smiled ruefully. "No."   
  
"Has anyone ever told you that you're a really bad liar?"   
  
"Yes," Xena replied, straight-faced, "Constantly." If she only knew...   
  
Livia laughed, briefly, before the slight frown of impatience returned to her face. She indicated the horizon – "I hate waiting. Almost as much as I hate villas. Do you like villas, Semra?"   
  
"Can't say I'm all that familiar with them," Xena shrugged. She looked around the marble balcony, and pretended she could not recall the villas of Rome. "I prefer the tents of an army."   
  
"You and me both." Livia leaned on the parapet, staring out to sea. "I was brought up in one, you know. A huge sprawling mansion. I imagined storming it as a child."   
  
"You've always wanted to be a warrior?"   
  
"Of course."   
  
Xena felt like she was walking on shifting sand whenever their conversations drifted in this direction – always, there was the fear that Livia would snap back from the offered friendship, would close up again. Every step was tiny, rare, and so slow that Xena was starting to despair.   
  
"Do you miss it?" she asked tentatively. "Home?"   
  
A crooked smile changed Livia's profile. "No." She looked back at Xena from behind wind-tousled hair with birdlike curiosity. "Do you?"   
  
Xena decided to take a risk. "Some things," she said, sifting through her memory of Amazon lands to find the things that would appeal to Livia. Livia had lived her life in what Rome called 'civilisation' – and apparently hated it. So...   
  
"The smell of fires," Xena said, "the dances. The forest at night – it has a life of its own, and you learn to listen to it. Bird calls, the sounds of burrowing animals, the faces of the moon. How to run through dry undergrowth without making a noise. How to catch a rabbit with nothing but your hands."   
  
She saw the change in Livia's expression – a tiny hint of envy – but in the next instant, her daughter smirked, "And how to wage war in the forests, with ambushes and traps."   
  
"That's right." Xena hid her disappointment. "Every Amazon knows her tribe's land. I know them all."   
  
"Excellent," Livia turned around and leaned back on her elbows, lifting her face to the sun. "I'm counting on you, Semra. You won't let me down?" The question was a little too pleasant.   
  
"I wouldn't dream of it. Provided I know my daughter is safe before we attack."   
  
"Naturally." Livia did not move. "You have so much potential, Amazon – but you're too sentimental. Your child is your weakness."   
  
Xena did not hesitate. "My child is my strength."   
  
Livia smiled slowly at the sky. "Or mine. Because you'll never fight for Rome, for all your tough talk. You're fighting for Eve."   
  
"I won't deny it."   
  
"Don't. I wouldn't believe you." The smile on Livia's face did not change, but it faded from her voice. "I pity you, Semra. But I envy your daughter."   
  
Xena lost her breath and the world flashed into brightness – not tears. She cradled the fluttering hope inside her and forced herself back into her role. There was only Semra and her child. "Have you had any news of her?"   
  
Livia closed her eyes to the sun's warmth. "Last I heard, your friend – Jana? – was still looking." She opened her eyes reluctantly and turned to Xena. "I'm sure Ares will let me know as soon as she's found."   
  
"I ... thank you."   
  
So Ares was keeping his word, playing along. Somehow, that was unnerving. Xena wondered if perhaps she should have talked to him during the march across Italy after all – but then, what would've been the point? He'd just keep trying to use Gabrielle as a pawn, knowing how badly Xena longed for news of her. Besides, there was nothing to say. Even if Ares had not set out to corrupt Eve, but he'd been there, for twenty-five years. He'd been there. He could have seen her grow up, if only he'd wanted to. She could not.   
  
"He loves you, you know."   
  
Xena jumped. Livia was grinning at her as though she had just won a particularly funny bet. Xena hoped she looked relaxed. "Who?"   
  
Livia's grin broadened. "Don't play a fool, Semra, it doesn't suit you." She took the ends of her scarf and busied her hands with draping it over her shoulders. "Every time I mention you, Ares gets this eager look in his eyes." She flicked the scarf back; the wind snatched it up. "I make sure I've always got something to say about you. It's the most fun I've had in years."   
  
Xena had no time to wonder what the mocking tone hid – there was a noise like crashing waves inside the house, and then a storm of shouting rising in volume, coming upstairs. Without needing to exchange a glance, she and Livia sprinted for the door to the terrace, no longer a nobleman's guests but the commanders of an army.   
  
Someone wrenched open the door just as they got to it – Rufus, a young tribune. He saluted Livia hastily, his face flushed under a scattering of freckles.   
  
"General," he gasped, "You must come, at once!"   
  
Livia squeezed past him into the house, Xena followed. Inside, the airy room was full of well-dressed people, their flustered host trying in vain to propel them out of his house, waving pudgy hands.   
  
"All right, what is going on here?"   
  
The crowd stilled.   
  
Xena marvelled at the transformation in Livia. The catlike game of fanning and retracting claws was gone completely, what remained was iron efficiency and the presence of a born commander. Xena wished it didn't make her feel so damn proud.   
  
Livia nodded at Rufus in the ringing silence of the room. "Report."   
  
Rufus gulped. "The townsfolk... There was a fight, a – brawl, I guess, with some of our men." The next words came out in a rush – "They've stabbed a centurion from the Second... Marcus Sergius."   
  
Livia's face turned to chalk. Xena looked from the silently flinching Rufus to her daughter's frightening, emotionless features. Whatever this was about was more than just a tavern brawl.   
  
"He's the only one hurt," Rufus added hopefully, "And we've caught them all, they didn't run far. It wasn't his fault... They were shouting things about us – you know how folk get after a drink too many."   
  
Livia's lips moved. "Bring him in."   
  
Someone from the back of the room spoke up. "He's downstairs, in the atrium."   
  
Livia elbowed her way through the crowd, Xena following with Rufus, who looked thoroughly miserable. Xena caught his shoulder, "What's going on?"   
  
He shook his head. "Gonna be blood," was all he'd say.   
  
Livia took the stairs two at a time, the silk of her dress flying behind her. The humming crowd descended the stairs in their wake and dispersed through the giant frescoed atrium. There was a red velvet couch in the centre, the hulk of a man in Roman armour sprawled awkwardly on it.   
  
"Everyone out," Livia ordered, turning around. She was no longer pale, but her eyes looked empty. "Rufus, fetch a physician. Semra! Open the doors to the garden, this place is stuffier than a Cornelian crypt."   
  
Grateful for the intervention, the owner of the villa finally managed to usher his guests out of the house; Rufus slipped outside in their midst. The atrium grew silent very quickly. Xena flung open the doors to the peristyle garden, letting in flower-scented air. She turned back to where the stricken man was laid out on the couch – and knew the physician would be too late.   
  
The man – Marcus – looked stocky and hardened, tanned in the way leather could be; he was probably in his fifties, though with the sharpened, waxy features, it was becoming hard to tell. Livia was kneeling beside him, fingernails digging into the edge of the couch.   
  
Xena crouched at the man's feet, mentally tallying wounds. A knife – a blunt one – had gone into his side and stomach; dark, foul-smelling blood welled, but did not flow. Something else, wide and heavy, had smashed his left knee into a useless red mass, white bone shards jutting out at sickening angles. Nothing she could do. He had – an hour, two... But the dismay Xena felt was nothing compared to the restrained horror on Livia's face. Not a lover, surely?   
  
"Li... Livilla," Marcus whispered harshly, every sound a visible effort.   
  
Livia nodded quickly, taking his hands, rubbing them as though trying to warm him. "It's all right," she said a little awkwardly, "I've sent for a physician."   
  
The whites of Marcus' eyes were bloodshot, the eyes losing focus, but Xena thought they must have held laughter before this. "Silly girl..." he said with a grimace that tried to be a smile, "You know I ... hate ph... physicians."   
  
Livia made a sound partway between a laugh and a sob. Marcus shut his eyes. For a few moments there was nothing save the hiss of his laboured breathing. Then – "They say things about you, Livilla..." He winced and Livia's hands tightened on his. "Bitch of Rome," he muttered, "Br... Brutal... Ruthless..."   
  
Livia made no response.   
  
"Lies!" Marcus barked suddenly, so unexpectedly that both Xena and Livia flinched. "Lies..." he repeated in whisper, his yellowish face contorted with pain. He opened his eyes, and a tear spilled across his craggy cheek, following the white line of a scar. "I told them," he said urgently, "I did... But you tell them ... your... yourself..."   
  
Only then did he seem to notice Xena. "Amazon...?"   
  
"Semra," Livia confirmed, motioning for Xena to come closer, where he could see her easier. "My senior legate."   
  
Life flooded back into Marcus, he tried to move, then groaned. "Another... Another Amazon... Blonde, kind eyes..."   
  
Her heart beating in her throat, Xena said, "Yes; my friend." What could he know of Gabrielle? Had he met her while they were preparing to march from Rome?   
  
"Tell her," he whispered, "Say, Marcus said... No hard feelings."   
  
"I will." Xena returned Livia's blank look. "I promise."   
  
"Good. Livilla – here..." Marcus raised a trembling hand to his forehead. Livia leaned over and kissed his head. Xena could barely make out the next words, they drifted like breaths. "No hard feelings?"   
  
Livia shook her head, leaning against his forehead.   
  
They remained like that for a long time: Livia leaning against Marcus, Xena kneeling beside them, knowing there was nothing she could do for either. Marcus's breaths remained shallow and harsh. Finally, Livia looked up. Her eyes widened slightly, then she scowled, "Why are you still here?"   
  
In response, Xena saluted and turned to go, aware that she had witnessed something never meant for her eyes. She got no further than three steps; the front door swung open and Rufus returned with a frail, dark-robed man in tow.   
  
"The physician?" he said.   
  
Livia turned to the two of them stiffly, as though her joints had frozen solid. "Tend to him." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the couch. The physician scuttled in the direction indicated. Ignoring Xena's look, Livia turned a hard stare at Rufus. She did not raise her voice; when she spoke, it was gentle and almost kind.   
  
"Bring me the men who did this."   
  


* * *

  
  
They did not look like murderers. One dark-haired and muscular, in his late twenties or early thirties, with the look of a farmer about him; another who also looked like a farmer, but was taller and broader than the first, with wide-set eyes and a crop of blonde hair. Judging by his clothes and neat haircut, the third man was a local – elderly and stooped, certainly not the type Xena would imagine as the star of a drunken brawl in a cheap inn.   
  
The men stood a little unsteadily in front of a large fountain, their hands tied behind their backs. The washerwomen who usually swarmed around it had been chased off, and the sculpted satyrs chasing water-nymphs had a desolate look, as though they wished they could turn away, but were tied to the spot by the gurgling water. Each of the accused was flanked by two Roman guards, who watched them with wary eyes. The crowd in the crossroads and the adjoining streets buzzed, appreciating the tableau, more curious than sympathetic.   
  
From her place at the front with the other officers, Xena watched Livia approach the three prisoners, blazing red in her cloak and armour against the white-grey street. She turned her back to them.   
  
"People of Dyrrachium!" she cried in a clear, modulated voice. The noise died down marginally as people listened. "Rome has given your city life; Rome has made your city prosperous and secure. She gave you wealth from trade and legionaries to protect it! What answer do you have for these three, who consider themselves above such things as peace and prosperity?" The crowd began to buzz again, louder now, intrigued. Livia continued. "Ingrates! They dared to speak treason against Rome – and killed a Roman centurion!"   
  
Xena looked over her shoulder: the people were getting visibly agitated, nudging each other, looking at the three men by the fountain as something peculiar – the way, Xena realised, they looked at gladiators in the arena. Admiring, involved, and completely indifferent.   
  
"The murder of a Roman soldier is a hideous crime," Livia cried, "It is more than the murder of a man! It is an attack on Rome herself. These men attacked Rome in your city – Rome the protector, Rome who has given you life! So I want to know, people of Dyrrachium – do they have your support?"   
  
"No!" called out someone from the crowd, and the voice was joined by others, some frightened of the soldiers in their midst, others only thrilled that this show called for audience participation. "No!"   
  
Livia waited for a few moments, scanning the crowd. "Then the city of Dyrrachium remains loyal to Rome?"   
  
"Yes!" cried the crowd, enjoying itself immensely. "Long live Augustus Caesar! Long live Livia, Fortuna's champion!"   
  
Unexpectedly, Xena recalled something Caesar had once said, in that laughing, condescending tone of his, when she had asked him, naively, how he planned to control the empire of his dreams. I'll give them bread and circuses.   
  
"Cowards!" The thickset blonde prisoner barked the word, loud enough to snap through the air. The other two men on either side of him looked terrified, but he went on. "Cowards, all of you!" The guards glanced at Livia for orders, but her eyes were turned to the prisoner, her face expressionless. The crowd fell utterly silent, all ears straining to catch the man's words over the sound of the fountain.   
  
"You're hailing this monster as your saviour!" he screamed, his face turning red with the effort, his blonde hair almost invisible on his pink scalp. "I say, Rome is no saviour at all, and neither is its army! Who'll protect us from Rome? Who'll protect us when the legions come and take our livelihood? No one! Remember Caesar and Pompey? Remember? Rome never changes, it can't change! It will always fights its wars on our soil, it will always be our people's heads on the stakes and our children in the graves! The legions marched through my village, took our crops and left us to starve – so that Rome the protector could eat! So the Rome the benevolent could worship its Champion!"   
  
He lurched forward, but the guards held him back. Xena saw a coldness welling in Livia's face, setting it into the terrible beauty of anger – a look Xena knew so well that an answering pain hit her. She knew what was coming.   
  
"So go on, oh people of Dyrrachium," screamed the prisoner mockingly, harshly, "surrender to the Bitch of Rome!"   
  
Livia backhanded him, casually. He slumped back against his guards, dark blood trickling from his nose onto his tunic. The crowd grew very still. The man looked up at Livia from under his brows, stubborn hatred ignited into fury by the pain.   
  
"What about the two of you?" Livia asked the other prisoners affably. "Do you agree with your friend?"   
  
The young dark-haired man turned his face aside. The elderly man trembled, looking from one to the other of his companions. "I didn't..." he began, then tried again – "I tried to stop them!"   
  
"Did you really?" Livia said. "I do regret your failure, then, old man. I'm sure your two friends regret it even more."   
  
The dark-haired man looked up at that, and said – "I regret nothing."   
  
Livia smiled. "Not yet."   
  
To Xena's surprise, the young man's face cleared, as though he no longer had anything to lose. "No," he said, "I do regret something. I regret that your blood will never avenge the wife or mother your army murdered – and I'll never have the chance to hear you squeal like a pig under my knife, the way your old centurion squealed!"   
  
There was a pause so silent that even the fountain seemed to have stopped. Then, Livia clicked her fingers, and a guard handed her a whip. The old prisoner cried out, and the blonde man tried to spit in Livia's direction – long red-tinged drool that hung from his mouth instead of reaching its target.   
  
"Hold him down!" Livia commanded, and the guards grabbed handfuls of the young prisoner's dark hair and forced him to his knees, ripping back his tunic. The crowed roared – or maybe it was the blood in Xena's temples, it was becoming hard to tell the difference... Maybe there was none.   
  
The whip came down in rhythmic cracks against the exposed flesh of the man's back, licking away shreds of skin, until his curses became shrieks and Xena could see nothing more – not the other two prisoners, not the guards, not the crowd – only the horrifying repetition of her daughter's shape – now standing upright, the whip sailing overhand – now bending, the whip coming down, dragging back... over and over and over again, and there was nothing, nothing Xena could do. She smelled blood and tasted blood – and then realised she had bit through the skin of her cheeks, and still, the flogging continued, spinning into endless horror...   
  
Sometime much later, there was a voice that sounded like her daughter's; it said, "Enough."   
  
Xena blinked. There was no man where there had been a man before – only meat with a face turned down, eyes rolled back into whites. She felt the ground sway under her feet; when she regained balance, she was stumbling away, through the crowd, bile and blood in her dry mouth. Far away, the same voice said: "Prepare the crosses."   
  
As if through fog, Xena felt someone grab her arm – one of the other legates. She couldn't make herself comprehend his words, but his expression was plain. She wrenched her arm away, said something about having to relieve herself – she didn't care if he heard her, she'd shake him off if she had to – but he let go, and she was free, pushing between sweaty packed bodies, needing to breathe somewhere else, away from this.   
  


* * *

  
  
She stopped when she reached the sea. Behind her were narrow streets, the shanties and shops of the cheapest part of Dyrrachium, abandoned this afternoon for a spectacle. A good show. People said that. Xena raised a hand to her mouth, dropped it. Looked around. The cove was nothing more than a rocky beach, surrounded by cliffs on each side. Upturned fishing boats stretched in a line of keels on the grey shale, dragged out past the darker grey tide marks. Seagulls circled over the water, screeching. The wind was stronger here than inside the city, chilling the sweat on Xena's skin and raising goosebumps. She rubbed her arms. What was she doing here?   
  
The sea. The waves kept smashing against small rounded stones. The foaming water stank of iodine and seaweed, but those were clean smells, better by far than the stench of human suffering she had fled. A wave fell back, tugging at gravel. Xena tried not to feel the tug of the whip in Livia's hands, the splitting of the man's back underneath it.   
  
Most of all, she tried not to feel him. Finally, she could stand it no longer.   
  
"Ares!"   
  
Nothing.   
  
Xena looked over at the spot where she could sense him, between her and the sea, like a charge in the air before a storm. So he was back then. For the first time since Italy. She knew suddenly that he had been there in the street, too, that he had watched Livia take hold of the whip. Watching the flogging from the comfort of aether. He had returned for the first time since Italy – for this!   
  
Xena drew her sword, for the welcome weight of it.   
  
"Proud of your daughter, God of War?"   
  
Ares flashed into view in front of her, dark against the leaden sea; the same form, the same face, the same everything, everything. He stood still for a moment, not looking at her, then raised his eyes. Xena felt a stab of needle-hot anger at the half-smirk on his face – or at herself, for expecting anything else.   
  
"So now she's my daughter?"   
  
He came closer as he said it, stood a pace away. "When she was your blue-eyed little doll, she was yours and Gabrielle's."   
  
"When she makes a show of playing judge, jury and executioner, I know whose daughter she is."   
  
Ares nodded as if to himself, "Oh, I get it. It's in her blood, right? The bloodlust, the rage, she gets that from me. So what does she get from her mother? The milk of human kindness?"   
  
The accusation cracked across Xena's face like a whip; she scowled automatically. "I wouldn't know. I spent most of her life in deep freeze, thanks to you!"   
  
"I mourned you! Do you understand? A god mourned for you, Xena!"   
  
"And I should be grateful?"   
  
Ares clenched his teeth, breathing hard. "You should be grateful it wasn't a funeral pyre."   
  
Xena gave a harsh laugh, twirled the sword in her hand and threw it away. It landed with a short clank on the pebbles. She wanted this so badly, needed to fight now, to wound, to draw his blood, her blood. Any reason now. "You couldn't have burned my body, anyway. Not when you finally had it. You wanted to keep me."   
  
"Sure," he said flatly, "you and your little blonde, too."   
  
Xena tried not to let the flash of discomfort show, but knew he'd already seen it. It was true, he had buried Gabrielle beside her... But what did that change? Ares leaned back slightly, an angry challenge in his eyes. She wouldn't let him have it.   
  
"You should've lit that pyre," she said with a short, ugly smile. "You should've let me die."   
  
Her words did something unexpected. Anger fell from his face. Before Xena could stop him, Ares' hands were gripping her waist, and he was looking at her with – what? Fear?   
  
"You don't mean that."   
  
She looked back at him and said nothing.   
  
"Xena..." Ares' voice lost its edge, became smaller somehow. "I was trying to honour..." His mouth tightened defiantly. "I couldn't accept it."   
  
"Neither can I. And I'm not going to accept it." It was no longer about her 'death', it was about Livia again, and both of them knew it.   
  
Xena broke away from him and picked up her sword. She saw Ares glance at it nervously, but she was in no mood for theatrics – if she was going to fall on her sword, she'd do it without him watching. She returned it to its scabbard. It struck her that she'd become careless after the long sleep. Always, she had been on her guard around Ares, constantly alert. Now, she felt too worn out to bother. There was nothing he could do that would be worse than Livia.   
  
"I'm going back there. There are crucifixions to oversee."   
  
She didn't wait for Ares to respond, turned around and walked back towards the city, trying to listen to the gravel crunching under her boots instead of the sound of the aether closing over him.   
  
She missed Gabrielle.   
  


* * *

  
  
The soldiers' hammers slammed down fast, a drum-roll without rhythm, ear-splittingly loud at the darkening roadside. When the last wedge was beaten into the trunk of the last cross, Livia nodded her satisfaction. The soldiers saluted and moved away, and Livia stepped back critically. The crowd had grown bored and dispersed; no doubt they'd be back later to gawk at the result. Livia didn't think that they'd be disappointed. The three posts were set along the Via Egnatia, the largest and best-travelled road leading from Dyrrachium southeast to Macedonia and Thrace. A much-needed reminder to the eastern provinces that Rome's gifts had to be earned.   
  
"The prisoners are ready, General."   
  
Livia turned to find the three men slumped beside the guards, the two conscious ones trying to support the crossbeams tied to their arms. The flogged man was held by two soldiers, all but hanging from his crossbeam, dark hair matted with blood. The blonde prisoner coughed wetly.   
  
"Get on with it," Livia said, and scowled at the centurion in charge. "And don't break their legs – they can take their time dying."   
  
It was done with exemplary efficiency. Prisoners hoisted up, crossbeams secured, guard posted. The sun was setting, and the crosses became black against the reddening, fire-edged sky, stretching their long shadows towards Livia. She turned away and paced back along the road, as if she could outwalk her own shadow and the strange restlessness which had taken over her body.   
  
Odd. There had been so much rage and satisfaction in her when she'd flogged Marcus's murderer; she'd only stopped when her arm had turned numb with the effort, and she could feel the sticky spray of his blood over her face and hands. And now? Now, they were three limp carcasses strung up for the birds, and there was no calm in her, no contentment.   
  
It had always worked before. It was an end – a dramatic, terrifying, powerful end. Caesar had been right – crucifixion was Rome, the indelible stamp of its power. These crucifixions were Rome, and they were also her, Rome's Champion. They were all she could do for Marcus. And they weren't enough.   
  
Damn him for enlisting in her army, anyway! He was too old to campaign, someone should have told her – she'd have stopped him. Livia paused, turned to look back at the sun. Its light, now more scarlet than gold, made her eyes water. She squinted, but did not permit herself to look away. Damn him for dying.   
  
There was a moan above her; Livia looked up. The old man. In the twilight, with his face so far above her own, he almost reminded her of Marcus... Livia shook herself – nonsense. He did not remind her of anyone. She'd spent too long brooding about this. Marcus, old fool that he'd been, had chosen his own end.   
  
"Lady..." The man's feeble voice drifted down to her. "Have mercy...."   
  
Livia narrowed her eyes, looking up. "What do you want, old man?"   
  
"Death," he said – and started crying. Disgusted, Livia turned away.   
  
The tall silhouette of an armed woman appeared over the curve of the road, approaching with the purposeful long strides Livia had come to recognise.   
  
"Semra."   
  
The Amazon saluted when she was near enough for the two of them to see each other. Livia noticed she avoided looking at the crosses.   
  
"The funeral pyre is ready. They're waiting for your signal to light it."   
  
There was an unfamiliar softness in the woman's voice; it took Livia a moment to place it: sympathy. She wanted to slap it away from that blue-eyed face; only barely managed to control her rage. How dare she! How dare she feel sorry for the Champion of Rome?   
  
"Go to Tartarus!" she snarled – then winced at the woman's reaction: surprise, then yet more of her damned sympathy. Livia cursed herself. Making her voice businesslike, she said, "Tell them to go ahead. I have more important concerns."   
  
Semra frowned. "Marcus's pyre—"   
  
"I don't want to see it."   
  
"You should. It might make this ... end."   
  
"Amazon." There was quiet danger in Livia's voice. "You forget yourself."   
  
Wisely, Semra backed off. "As you wish."   
  
She saluted and marched back along the road. Livia watched her go, then snapped her fingers at the nearest guard. "You there." The man scrambled to attention, fixing his helmet which had come askew.   
  
"Commander?"   
  
Livia glanced up at the crosses – the prisoners with their unbroken legs. It would take days for them to die this way: reaching up for air, fighting the inevitable. Slow agony, every minute of it repaying for Marcus's last breaths. Livia looked back to the waiting guard.   
  
"Break their legs."   
  
Above her, the old man stopped crying.   
  


* * *

  
  
Ares paced the deserted beach in the last of the twilight, trying to tell himself that he was waiting for Xena to return. It was no use. He'd spent too many years doing exactly that not to know that it was pointless. She was obviously intent on remaining beside the old soldier's funeral pyre until even the guards fell asleep. He didn't have any idea what she found so fascinating about it. Maybe she was thinking about the pyre he never lit for her. Maybe she wasn't regretting it.   
  
He sighed and made himself visible, even though there were no here mortals to see him. It was a nasty habit he'd picked up in the years after Xena was gone. He thought he was rid of it after a week of visiting battlefields and the disaster with Mavican, but – here he was again. He had to admit that it actually felt good. Really good. There were distractions in the mortal world. He could taste the sea spray and hear the birds squawking and the rustle of waves. And it smelled. A beach was a beach, after all, not so different to the one where he'd found Xena's lifeless body on the sand, twenty-five years ago... Since then, he always thought mortality smelled like the sea.   
  
He kicked at a pebble with the toe of his boot, watching a wave swallow it with a splash. It was true, about the pyre. He could not have burned her. It hadn't even crossed his mind, and whatever Xena said, he was profoundly glad it hadn't. How could it, after he'd seen Eve's body burnt to ashes? Ares flinched involuntarily, remembering the hot oily ash in his hands, the flames that couldn't touch him... He'd finally worked out Xena's scheme now, the whole insane plot to fake all their deaths. Only back then none of it had made any sense. Just grimy ash and white-hot fire around a screaming child – and dammit, he'd thought it was Eve!   
  
His daughter.   
  
She'd been so young, scarcely even a person, but holding her had made him feel something Ares couldn't quite understand. A longing of sorts, a vague sense that what he held was fragile and important, and that whatever those bright little eyes searched for within him, he wanted them to find it.   
  
He realised that he wasn't looking at the beach anymore, but far beyond it. The crosses. In the moonlight, that part of the road was visible from here even to human eyes; to the eyes of the God of War, it was a little too close for comfort. Eve had done this.   
  
Proud of your daughter, God of War?   
  
And why not? Livia certainly had the right idea about road signs: practical warnings were always the most effective kind. She'd grow into quite an Empress, given half a chance, and the worshippers her rule would bring him would fill countless temples. Hordes, multitudes like he'd never seen! Sure, Livia did him proud.   
  
Except... if he was so proud of Livia, why didn't he like to think of Eve doing all those things?   
  
  
  
  
  


Without You

  
  


_I broke glass like chocolate in my hand,  
  
I sliced these fingers for not being able to touch you,  
  
I looked into those faces and couldn't forgive  
  
That they don't have you, and yet  
  
They can live._  
  
Nautilus Pompilius, "I Want To Be With You"

  
  
  
  
Xena climbed the hill to the portico of the villa. It was late, long after all the occupants – and Livia – would have gone to sleep. She didn't think she could face her daughter right now, not as Semra, and a tiny fear in Xena's heart whispered that she didn't want to face her at all. The brief hope she'd had that morning was a distant memory, but the flogging and crucifixions, and Livia's unrepentant look, were only too fresh in her mind.   
  
Maybe it really was too late.   
  
The doors were locked of course, and it hardly seemed worthwhile to wake the steward. Instead, Xena took a lungful of crisp night air, measured the height with a practiced eye – and made a running jump up to the balcony. Her hands slammed down hard on icy marble, she hung by her fingers a moment and groaned, scrambling for a grip. Knees came up, finding purchase between the struts that held the railing. Xena reached up, flipped over, and found herself on the terrace.   
  
To her left, past the marble, the world dropped away into the black nothingness of the sea. Ahead and to her right, dots of firelight winked in the thinner blackness of the city. There, partially hidden by walls and buildings was a column of smoke, dense in the windless night. The old soldier's pyre, burning down. By morning, it would hold nothing but hot ashes.   
  
Xena opened the door and went into the house. The movement had done her good. Her body was awake again, her heart beating loudly in the hushed corridor. In the confines of the house, the smell of smoke in her hair and clothes was overpowering; she'd spent too long near the fire. She began to unbuckle her armour as she walked, couldn't wait to be free of it. There was no point in wishing for a bath.   
  
The crash of shattered pottery made her stop. It had come from up ahead.   
  
Another noise followed it. Not a mouse or a rat; this was soft and low, a human sound. The corridor was all blue shadows, but there was a wavering line of gold light under the door which led to Livia's sleeping quarters. Xena came closer, listening. There it was again!   
  
She rapped on the door quietly. "Livia?"   
  
There was no answer, then the noise came again, clearer – and Xena thought she knew what it was. She rested her hand on the door. "Livia?" Decision made, Xena gave it a slight push; it opened with a long whine.   
  
Livia did not turn immediately. The room was large and well-appointed, but ultimately just a sleeping cubicle, the same as Xena's own. There was a bed with a night-table beyond it, and lavish murals of sea gods in shades of blue and green on the walls. There were no windows, just an air vent above the bed. Livia knelt on crumpled covers, her hair loose over her nightgown, looking down at her hands. They were covered with blood.   
  
She sobbed again.   
  
"Livia!"   
  
Xena forgot all her doubts, even the day's horrors were tossed aside – she rushed to her daughter's side, frantic with dread. Her wrists!   
  
Livia's head came up; Xena thought the surprise in her eyes was at the unexpected intrusion, but then she held out her hands, streaming red, and said, "Mama?"   
  
A pace away, Xena stopped dead. No... No, she didn't know—   
  
"Mama..." Livia repeated, sitting up a little way, "Look."   
  
Automatically, Xena's eyes darted to the hands held out to her – she knew what she'd find, black ragged scars that could not be closed...   
  
But there were no scars. Xena blinked, confused; came closer. There were bluish circles under Livia's eyes, forgotten kohl smudged over skin damp with tears. Her eyes were glassy and vacant – and it suddenly made sense.   
  
Xena looked past the bed, and sure enough, the shattered wine jug was there, terracotta shards frozen in a purple-red splash, the same colour as Livia's hands. Slowly, Xena looked back to the night table. There was a pouch, the dark green powder of crushed herbs spilling from it. She took some on a fingertip, sniffed it. It brought back sharp, sickening memories of the bacchanalia at the Imperial palace in Rome.   
  
"Oh, Eve..."   
  
Giddy relief turned swiftly to anger; Xena forgot all caution, dropped the role of Semra completely. She shook Livia's shoulders, staring into her face – "What in Tartarus are you doing?! I thought you'd—"   
  
Livia was oblivious. "I broke it..." she whispered. "I didn't mean to."   
  
The fight went out of Xena, she sank onto the edge of the bed. "It's just a jug."   
  
"You don't understand," Livia was shaking her head, "I didn't mean to do it."   
  
"It doesn't matter now..."   
  
"What do you know about it?" Livia's eyes focused on Xena, their haunted depth gone. Her lip curled back over her teeth. "You're not my mother! You're a fucking Amazon!"   
  
Xena sat still, speechless with shame. Her child. How could she have wanted to never see her again, to abandon her, even for a moment? Gabrielle never gave up on me. But who'd believe in Livia, if even she couldn't, after everything she had done? She had to tell her daughter the truth.   
  
"I'm not..."   
  
"No, you're not," Livia cut her off. "I don't have a mother. I don't need one." She laughed harshly and without humour, as though the wine had been nothing at all. "Do you know when I found out, Semra?"   
  
Xena shook her head mutely.   
  
Livia's gaze softened slightly, lost in a memory. Xena waited.   
  
"I was six, or seven... The Emperor came to see me – it was a great honour. They made me take a bath and curled my hair. I had to curtsey and keep quiet like a good Roman girl, and call the Emperor 'Divine Caesar'. I thought it was a stupid nickname, and told him so."   
  
Xena could not help a smile, and Livia smiled, too, absently.   
  
"He laughed. He said I could have anything I wanted. I said I wanted a real mother – Drusilla whipped me later for my cheek. Augustus took my face in his hands and said, 'Rome is your mother.'" She looked up, and there were tears in her eyes. "He was right."   
  
"No, no..." Xena could stand it no longer, she crushed her daughter into an embrace; Livia's cheek was wet against her own. "He was wrong, about everything."   
  
Livia did not resist, but her body trembled slightly, whether with strain or the effect of the drugs Xena didn't know. Her hair smelled like the herbs; Xena brought one hand up to stroke it, whispering into it. "You do have a mother, and she loves you."   
  
Xena felt Livia shaking her head, "I don't. Marcus told me; she was dead when they found me."   
  
So that's who the soldier was! Marcus – she should have guessed! Xena held her daughter tighter, wishing she knew what to say.   
  
"He thought I was some kind of gift from the gods... He of all people was a fool to die for it!" Livia's voice broke. "I'm nothing but a Thracian foundling. Not even a Roman."   
  
She sat back, moving away from Xena. "Why are you here, Semra?"   
  
It wasn't the question that surprised Xena, but Livia's tone – not defensive but puzzled. As though she really wanted to know.   
  
"I thought..." Xena smiled slightly, through the tightness in her chest. "I thought you could use a friend."   
  
Livia rubbed at her wine-stained hands, and Xena could not help noticing that her fingers were shaking.   
  
"My friend is dead," Livia said finally, dully. Then – "Semra?"   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"It's strange. I don't think I can avenge him." Livia's hands fell into her lap, she sat back on her knees. Tentatively, almost as though voicing a foreign thought, she said, "Marcus wouldn't have liked it."   
  
Afraid to hope, Xena said softly, "Marcus believed in you."   
  
"He didn't. What they said about me, Amazon? That was the truth. It's who I am."   
  
"No," Xena's voice rose with urgency, "It's what you do. There is a difference, Marcus knew that."   
  
Livia turned away, then lay down, curling her arm under her cheek. Xena made as if to rise, but Livia's voice stopped her. "Can you sing?"   
  
Surprised, Xena nodded. "A little."   
  
"I want to hear an Amazon song." Livia drew the covers over herself, and her voice became slurred, on the verge of sleep. "You must've ... sung for your daughter."   
  
"I did," Xena murmured. She shifted a little on the edge of the bed, caught up in her own, too-recent memories. She could do it – sing. If she closed her eyes.   
  
She tried it.   
  
...Hush now, my little one, please don't you cry,   
  
Rest your head on my shoulder and sigh...   
  
Livia's breathing deepened into sighs, and her body loosened, became relaxed – and only then did Xena realise what it meant. She trusted her! Somehow, she'd won her daughter's trust. Perhaps there really was a chance.   
  
...Sun's gone away, mama will pray...   
  
And then, without any warning, Xena felt a deeper voice join hers:   
  
... Silence will keep all the while you're asleep...   
  
She didn't bother to open her eyes; he was invisible anyway, yet somehow still warm beside her, warmer still where their shoulders and hips touched. She didn't want Ares to see her, not when she could not stop the grief pouring from her, not when there wasn't even any anger ... But their voices coiled into each other as easily as if they'd done this many times before, and Xena felt powerless against the song's current.   
  
... In your dreams see the sun,   
  
Morning will come,   
  
Chase midnight's darkness away...   
  
The song ended. Xena opened her eyes to look at her daughter – and found Ares sitting there on the edge of the bed, visible after all. He looked absurdly boyish, embarrassed and pleased at the same time, as though she'd just let him hold the baby. Xena's throat closed up painfully, and a bitter heat rose to her eyes. That was so long ago...   
  
"You're crying ..."   
  
"No," she said – but she was, and she turned away so that he wouldn't see it; dug her nails into the bedding so that he wouldn't notice the voiceless sobs racking her body.   
  
It had been such a long time since she'd cried.   
  
Ares raised one hand a little awkwardly to the back of Xena's armoured shoulder. He wasn't sure how to comfort her, what to say, or do. When she didn't move away, he touched her hair gingerly, stroking its silky warmth. She was so close that he could smell the faint traces of smoke on her skin, feel her uneven breaths.   
  
"Xena," he managed, in a voice that sounded too hoarse to be his, – "I'm not, you know. Proud."   
  
She turned around, frowning, her eyes reddened, but still beautiful. A strand of her hair slipped through his fingers as she moved back from him, and he felt a wave of loss and relief.   
  
"Not proud of what?"   
  
Ares glanced back over his shoulder at Livia – Eve. Asleep, she looked small and broken, nothing like the Livia of the battlefield.   
  
"What ... my daughter," he stumbled on the word, "did, out there."   
  
They looked at each other uncomfortably. Finally, Xena's eyes slid away. "Our daughter."   
  
He nearly said it, nearly asked her for another chance – but the words seemed stuck somewhere in his gut, squeezing it into a hard lump, fluttering wildly. Dimly, he recalled what it was like to be mortal and afraid – but he wasn't either of those things now! He only ever felt like this around Xena, when she looked at him with that unreadable stare, like she was doing now, and he wanted to say something, anything, just to see her face change, to feel solid ground again.   
  
The silence lengthened. The Amazons, Ares thought. He could tell Xena about them, tell her all their plans; to Tartarus with the war!   
  
But in the next instant Xena's eyes went to Livia's sleeping form, and when she looked at him again her expression had hardened; Ares could all but feel her withdrawing from him. Another minute and she'd be telling him to get out.   
  
He saved her the trouble, and took himself to Olympus before she could say it.   
  
"Ares?" Xena asked softly.   
  
She waited a moment, but he did not return. It was just as well. He'd said he wasn't proud of Eve. Maybe a few crucifixions just weren't enough to make him proud. Or maybe he really did understand... She didn't want to ask, didn't want to think of it now. There was her daughter, looking so fragile, lost in her sleep among the spilt wine and the mind-numbing herbs. Ares probably gave them to her, she thought savagely, but could not quite force herself to believe it. No, Livia got them from Rome... from her mother.   
  
That was the cruelest thing of all, Xena thought. Every moment of hatred in her daughter's life, every memory given over to drugs or blood was there because of Ares – because of the ice, because he was immortal, because he was War – and she could not blame him. She wanted to. She wanted to hate him for it, for burying her while Eve lived, for the things he'd screamed at her on the beach: So now she's my daughter? But the truth was, it wasn't just Ares. Eve was hers. If there was darkness in her soul, then so, too, was there darkness in the soul of her mother, locked away behind a door that had to be guarded and latched. Ares may have opened it, but it had been Eve who'd walked through. Just as her mother had done.   
  
Silently, Xena rose and left the room. There were a few hours left before dawn, and she needed to sleep. In the morning the Roman army and their Amazon guide would be marching east, and there was a long, long road ahead.   
  


* * *

  
  
She had abandoned the plan. There was no point pretending otherwise, and Gabrielle did not bother. Sitting cross-legged beside the fire, she felt alone with the night, and the maps. She put down the heavy parchment, unfolded her legs and leaned back until she was lying down, stretched out on the cool, prickly grass, head resting on her hands.   
  
The stars were bright and countless out here. Gabrielle felt a sharp stab of loss at the sight. There had been a time when she and Xena would lie on their backs just like this, and watch the sky. Or maybe only she watched it, and Xena slept... It didn't matter, really. Back then, the little circle of light and warmth around them seemed safer than any fortress, and she'd felt more at home than in any other place in her life, before or since. She'd had peace, then.   
  
Perhaps, Gabrielle mused, there was only so much peace in the world, just so much and not a bit more, and everyone had their little dollop of it, like rations in a besieged city. She was suddenly, pointlessly, angry at herself for trying to find peace in India, for dragging Xena through everything, just so she could wake up one morning and not imagine blood on her hands, her thighs, her pallet... Hope's blood. Her own blood, shed for every baby she'd never hold. It had been so wrong, so very wrong to search for peace at any cost – like stealing another's ration in that doomed city. Maybe her own ration of peace had run out a long time ago.   
  
And maybe that was why she was preparing the Amazons for a war, instead of following their plan.   
  
"Gabrielle?"   
  
She sat up just as Varia sat down, so that they were eye-level, an audience of two for the fire. Varia half-turned and nodded at the maps – "The southern tribes are on their way; the others have already started training."   
  
"Good." Gabrielle dragged the topmost map into her lap, and ran her hands over her face and hair, willing herself awake. The only thing she could do now was to ensure that Varia's ambitions didn't ruin the Amazons. Perhaps Xena could handle the Romans and Livia on her own, and they'd never make it here. Perhaps.   
  
Varia leaned over to look, fire-bright eyes following Gabrielle's finger as it traced the coastline of the Euxine sea. "All this land," Gabrielle swept her hand over the western half of the seaboard, "Is under our control. The Romans aren't expecting that." And neither is Xena...   
  
"What exactly are they expecting?"   
  
"Scattered tribes. Here, on the Thermodon in the South, Prothoë's people; here, the Thracian and Greek Amazon lands; and here, the Northern tribes – and the Scythians."   
  
"That's Centaur country!" Varia exclaimed, affronted.   
  
"I know." Gabrielle felt too tired to argue. "Cyane's people have signed a treaty with the Centaurs. That means all of us have."   
  
"So what? We don't need to involve them. This is our fight!"   
  
"Would you rather they negotiated with the Romans?" Gabrielle pointed to the map.   
  
Varia looked startled – then shook her head slowly. "You're right. They would do that." The remaining hostility in her tone seemed more like embarrassment than anger. "I should've thought of that."   
  
Gabrielle nodded. Looking at the map, she was mesmerised all over again by the vastness of it. Allied, the tribes were indeed a force to be reckoned with. And she was supposed to lead this force against Rome – and Xena? She didn't have to, of course. But that would be like releasing the reins on a chariot hurtling downhill. It wouldn't stop; she'd just lose what little control she had left.   
  
Varia frowned. "Is something wrong?"   
  
"No, nothing." Gabrielle pushed the map away. "Go ahead and ratify the treaty."   
  
"All right." Varia rolled it up, then paused and looked over at Gabrielle. "You're an odd one, Gabrielle. You're good at this. How can you not love it?"   
  
"What?"   
  
"This," Varia hefted the rolled-up map. "Campaigning."   
  
Gabrielle sighed. "War, you mean."   
  
Varia's eyes narrowed. "You say it like it's a bad thing."   
  
"Isn't it?"   
  
Varia looked surprised. "What's wrong with defending your land? Doesn't it thrill you: the rush of battle, the terrified faces of your enemies, being everything that stands between your home and chaos? Come on, Gabrielle – I can see you're no stranger to warfare. Why else remain a warrior for so long?" She grinned, eyes sparkling in the firelight. "Admit it – you do love it."   
  
"Blood, destruction, suffering, death..." Gabrielle shook her head. "I don't fight because I love those things, Varia. I fight because I don't."   
  
Only here, it didn't make the slightest difference.   
  
  
  
  
  


The Message

  
  


_My power depends on my glory,  
  
and my glory – on my victories. _  
  
Napoleon Bonaparte

  
  
  
  
Dawn broke over the forest, throwing a lacework of pale light over scenes of an army preparing to move out. Sounds of metal and wood and disembodied voices in the dark gained form, becoming visible: spoons clinking against mess tins, the heavy clatter of spears, the terse words of Amazons as they armed themselves.   
  
Gabrielle wandered between tents and suspended hammocks among the trees: a smile here, a word of encouragement there, until her face ached from the effort. She was their queen, supposedly rallying them for the battles ahead. In truth, she wished only that she could stall some more. Perhaps there would be word from Xena, saying that she'd managed to convince Livia and the Romans to pull back. But Xena thought she had plenty of time. She was not counting on the Amazons' advance, and Gabrielle knew could not hold them back any longer.   
  
She halted in front of a cache of spears. Two women from a Northern tribe, dressed in the traditional fringed garb, began to dismantle it as she watched. They handed out the weapons one by one to a line of Amazons snaking past. Gabrielle clamped her jaw shut, stifling the impulse to shout at them to stop, to wait. What good would it do? The cache continued to shrink. Each Amazon in turn took her spear, raising it once in a curt salute before walking away, every movement radiating excitement and resolve. They would not wait another day. Gabrielle knew she had delayed the march as long as she could; if she showed any more reluctance, the Council would simply transfer her command to another queen. No, they marched today.   
  
Panic rose in a thin wave in her chest as the last row of the spears was handed out. Desperately, Gabrielle tried to think through it. She had to warn Xena. Before it was too late, she had to warn her. Only there could be no question of sending a message to Rome's army. The Council of Queens would think it treason on her part, not to mention utter stupidity. They'd lose the advantage of a surprise attack. She could imagine their voices now, telling her that her first responsibility as their leader was to her nation, not to Xena. There could be no message.   
  
But there had to be a message!   
  
Gabrielle stilled, thinking. Wait a minute. Wasn't she Jana, sent to the Amazon lands to find Semra's missing baby? A baby she wasn't meant to find, but that had been part of the now-obsolete plan... It could work. Gabrielle's shoulders sagged in relief, and she smiled so brightly that the last Amazon to pick up her spear gave her a surprised look. A little embarrassed, Gabrielle sobered and turned away, but the grin returned unbidden when she spotted Varia coming towards her, looking very pleased. The Amazon wore the same lightweight leather for the march as Gabrielle did, and a sword across her back. Her face, too, was painted in the same way; two diagonal slashes of red on each cheekbone and a line between the brows, a warrior's marks. She returned Gabrielle's greeting, clasping her arm, and beamed. "You were right about taking the extra time to train them." She nodded at the activity all around, "It's already paying off. We're moving fast, even in this terrain."   
  
"We are." Gabrielle's anxiety returned, her smile slipping away. What little 'extra time' her stalling had bought was dwindling quickly, swallowed by the speed of their advance.   
  
"I'd thought you were stalling, you know," Varia said apologetically. "I thought you just didn't have what it takes. I'm sorry I doubted you, Gabrielle."   
  
Gabrielle struggled to keep her expression neutral. "Thanks; I appreciate that." She would never have thought that Varia's admiration would be more difficult to handle than her previous mistrust. And here she was, about to betray this faith that Varia and the others had placed in her.   
  
That, or betray Xena.   
  
"Get them moving," she said to Varia, "I'll be right back."   
  
"All right."   
  
When Varia had disappeared in the direction of the command tent, Gabrielle wandered a little further into the forest, until the sounds of the camp receded into the distance. She could write her message here, if she was quick... and if she had thought to take some parchment and ink. She cursed and began to look around.   
  
There! A branch overhead had snapped at one point; after a few tries, Gabrielle managed to peel off a reasonably sized piece of bark. Squatting to pick up a small sharp-edged stone, she scratched a few words on the inside of the bark, paused to read them over, then added several more before rising to her feet.   
  
There was no one within earshot, but Gabrielle kept her voice low, just in case. "Ares!"   
  
Her throat was dry, but her palms were moist and cold. She fidgeted nervously, rolling and unrolling the message, unsure which possibility she dreaded more: Ares appearing, or leaving her to wonder if he'd heard.   
  
Nothing happened, so Gabrielle raised her voice, "Ares, I need to talk to you!!"   
  
A quick blue-silver flash left him standing in front of her, looking irritated. Gabrielle let out a small sigh of relief. Ares crossed his arms, "Looks like we need to talk about expectations. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not the Genie of the Lamp."   
  
"We had an agreement."   
  
"Exactly, had. Past tense. Obligations discharged, finished."   
  
"Not quite." Swallowing her nervousness, Gabrielle held Ares' dark gaze. "You were meant to help Jana look for Semra's baby. Well," she held out the message. "Jana just found her. And she wants to tell Semra."   
  
She knew by the flicker of surprise in Ares' face that she had him. He'd do it! Gabrielle could not restrain a little smirk, ridiculously pleased that she'd managed to outmanipulate the God of War. She pushed the message towards him.   
  
Ares heaved a long-suffering sigh, and took it. He eyed the bark sceptically, "Still taking it out on the trees, I see."   
  
Gabrielle flushed. "It was all I had." Then, before she could lose her nerve, she asked the question that had been gnawing at her for weeks: "How's Xena?"   
  
Ares gave her an odd look, and Gabrielle almost thought he'd answer, but then he said, mockingly – "How do you think she is?" – and before she could think of what to say to that, he'd disappeared.   
  
"Ugh." Gabrielle almost kicked the tree in frustration, then thought better of it.   
  
How did she think Xena was? Fighting for Rome, playing some ridiculous role, trying to save her daughter... alone. And now this. Gabrielle winced at the familiar feeling in her gut – guilt. Great. She supposed that was Ares' revenge for her manipulation. Could she really trust him? He was, after all, the God of War. Yet seeing him hadn't made her think of war at all. For some reason, it made her think of Eve. Something in Ares' eyes had been like a quick glimpse of that lost time before the ice, when she had caught him singing to his daughter...   
  
Gabrielle sighed. Perhaps even the God of War could have some loyalty.   
  


* * *

  
  
Ares slumped into his throne, the piece of bark still in his hand, and glared at the assorted weaponry on the walls, then at the torches. Most of them roared into flames. Their red-gold tongues crackled nervously, coughing up sparks that floated up, winking out before they could reach the distant ceiling.   
  
Ares tightened his fist around the message. Damn the blonde! Why did she always get in the way? The God of War was not supposed to have loyalties. Sticking to one side in battle was a waste. Battles were by their nature unpredictable things, and the most unlikely of commanders could suddenly show potential and rally against the odds. Who cared what side they were on, when he could exalt in their victory? He wasn't Athena, who for all her wisdom could hardly ever find a 'righteous cause' to back, and so spent most of her time weaving. Athena missed the point. Righteous causes didn't win wars, battles did, and having loyalties meant interfering with battles. He wasn't in the habit of doing that. It would be like cheating in a game against himself. Oh, he could load the dice, give a warrior a fighting chance, but to personally decide the outcome of a battle? Where was the fun in that?   
  
The blonde just didn't get it. Xena did; Xena wasn't expecting him to interfere. Their arrangement was fair: Gabrielle had had her chance to stop the Amazons. The rest of their deal had nothing to do with Gabrielle, but would that ever stop her? Ares scowled at the thought. Not a chance. No, she was just going to shove messages into his hands like he was her personal post-box!   
  
He looked up from the message, to the massive doors in the wall opposite. This was the main chamber of the Halls of War: no castle or palace, but a labyrinth of vast caverns hollowed out from an ordinary-looking mountain in Thrace. The thick stone walls were faced with the blackest marble, veined thinly with red as though oozing slow trickles of blood, and even with all the torches burning, the chamber was still half-dark. The torchlight added gleaming patches of red to the statues and weaponry on the walls. Heavy red drapes moved lazily in the stiff air, but so deep inside the mountain they hid no windows. Those enormous doors, too, were little more than decoration; they opened to a dark corridor that stopped abruptly at a rockpile. Years ago there had been an exit, through a narrow cave concealed between cliffs dropping down into the foaming sea. Now it was a shambles of tumbled rocks overgrown with scraggly saltbush, and Ares had no interest in fixing it up. No mortal would find him here, and these days, no god would dare to look. The Halls of War were far more to his taste than the airy whiteness of Olympus. More private, too.   
  
He held out the message. The bark was rough; he unrolled it carefully, without quite knowing why he bothered, and stared at the scribbles. Reading this was pointless; despite the bard's elevated opinion of her own cleverness, he had a good idea of what it would say. He read it anyway.   
  
Beloved sister—   
  
Ares rolled his eyes. Even leading an army the size of several lesser-known nations had not dampened Gabrielle's enthusiasm for flowery prose.   
  
Beloved sister—   
  
Know that your daughter's fate rests with the council of my peers, who are united in their anger, and seek to destroy her.   
  
Unless she destroys them first, Ares thought. He tossed the message over his shoulder in the general direction of the fireplace. That, too, was pointless, because even before he heard the bark hit the stone floor, he knew that he wouldn't burn it.   
  
The trouble was that Gabrielle turned out to be surprisingly good at the warrior thing. When she had taken over the Amazon command, he'd thought that she would make a few strategic blunders, wring her hands, then leave the world domination to professionals. Then, while the Amazons squabbled over their leadership issues, Xena could have carried on with her grand plan and no one would have been the wiser. Instead, Gabrielle had formed her army, wooed the Council, tamed Varia, and even sweet-talked the Centaurs into an alliance. In fact, she was looking more and more like a real Amazon queen every day. One of the ancient ones, the ones who could actually win a war without Xena's help. And what a war!   
  
Ares felt a hunger shudder through him; he shut his eyes. The Amazon warriors against Rome. The greatest war in centuries, maybe even in history! He could almost taste it: the metal heat of blazing armour, tide after tide of it; the harsh guttural screams of battle – "Charge!"; the scorched earth; the feral brightness in their eyes as they called on his name. And Xena, riding into the fray, wild and unstoppable at his side, dealing destruction like the best of sacrifices, offering it to him with the same fierce abandon he knew in return. Xena, sharing his kills and letting him share hers, burning his whole being with the power of their union until he was the one screaming her name – Xena!   
  
Or not.   
  
Ares jammed his head back against the throne and exhaled a cynical smoke ring, complete with the curved bit in the centre. The hazy chakram didn't last long. Xena, Xena, Xena. That was the problem with this picture. It wasn't Xena. Ares drummed his fingers on the carved armrests. It was all very well to think of her riding with him into battle, fray, abandon, and all the rest of it – but right now, there was a piece of bark two paces behind him that said he was going to put a stop to this war. He could say good-bye to it the moment Xena laid eyes on that message.   
  
Unless she didn't.   
  
Thoughtfully, Ares waved a hand in front of him. A circlet of blue lightning crackled into the air before his eyes, at first only as big as the palm of his hand, then spreading outwards, growing like a slick of oil on the surface of a black pond. When it was near as large as the span of his arms, it rippled, turning hazy, then slowly filled with an image.   
  
There.   
  
Xena and Livia were riding side by side, following the first cohort of troops out of the tall wide gates of Dyrrachium. Morning sunlight glinted off helmets and shields as the legions marched out of the city, eagle-topped standards flapping brightly in the wind. Xena was in her gaudy Roman armour, naturally, just as Livia was. Even their horses matched. Ares felt a jolt of acute discomfort at the comparison. Oh, there could be no doubt that they were magnificent, easily eclipsing the glittering sea of steel around them. But... together like this – even if both had their eyes fixed firmly on the horizon, staring straight ahead – together, they were no longer quite Xena and Livia. They were a team.   
  
Quite deliberately, Ares focused on Xena, edging Livia out of the picture for the moment. It made Xena appear closer. Her hair whipped out from under the helmet in long strands. She turned her head abruptly and looked directly at him. Ares' heart skipped a beat. Xena's eyes narrowed, almost hiding their blue. Before he could stop himself, Ares reached out and touched her cheek. Lightning sizzled across the portal, and to his astonishment, Xena blinked and recoiled. It took a moment to realise that she had merely heard Livia call her.   
  
Ares leaned back, watching them talk. He felt curiously remote from it, and it wasn't just the second-hand view. He even made mental notes: Livia's studied nonchalance, carefully denying all connection with barbarian lullabies and the shattered wine pitcher back in the villa; the warmth in Xena's eyes as she said something that made Livia laugh and shake her head.   
  
Why did she never look at him that way? They had been so close for those few moments in Dyrrachium, sitting by their daughter's side. Her voice had called to him, only to him; Ares felt a painful tug of longing at the memory – but then she had glanced at Livia and drawn back from him, as if it was all his fault.   
  
There was Gabrielle's message, Ares remembered with rising irritation. His mind painted a picture more vivid than the portal before him: Xena taking it from his hands with scarcely a look in his direction, exchanging a few quiet words with Livia, casting worried looks towards the distant Amazon forests... And finding some way to call off this war without so much as a thankyou.   
  
He was the God of War, for Fates' sakes! He would not be reduced to the role of a carrier pigeon!   
  
Ares pulled back his arm and shot a burst of fire right through the portal. It sizzled bright-red across the room, melted a shield into a bubbling mess, bounded off the wall behind it and screamed back, past his face. He didn't flinch when it impacted behind his throne. There was a hiss, and a satisfying crackle of wood in fire. In front of him, the breach in the portal wavered and healed closed, with a noise like the swish of a blade sliding into a scabbard.   
  
The view changed. Ares could see the Amazon army, too far below to distinguish faces, advancing west. Then the Roman army, marching east in a column of dust. He hadn't done this in too long, he thought, seating himself more comfortably in the throne. This was, after all, his job. The faint scent of burnt bark reached him; Ares flared his nostrils slightly, wincing, and caught himself wondering if he could put the stupid missive back together. Hastily, he squashed the thought. Anyone who needed his help didn't deserve it. Not even Xena.   
  
Xena knew the rules.   
  
The advance continued. The Romans moved with solid, lumbering inevitability that disguised their swiftness. Towards them, so far that they were visible only to the God of War, came the wildly undulating lines of the Amazons. The Amazons didn't so much march as melt into the landscape; with thrilling speed, they disappeared in valleys and poured over hills, while the Romans marched on heavily, closer and closer, and closer again.   
  
The sight was mesmerising.   
  
Ares was vaguely aware of the passage of time, human time, with nights and days. Darkness came and the armies became constellations of firelight in the wide expanse of land, until daylight brought the colours back and the movement resumed. A perfect thing to watch, two great rivers rushing to meet in a violent burst of power. It was exhilarating. Ares let it flow through him, drinking it in thirstily, anxious that it could end before he'd had his fill.   
  
The anticipation of the conflict itself became almost unbearable; days no longer passed quickly but stretched into long hours, and yet the God of War knew that the armies had not slowed their advance. He urged them on anyway. Sometimes odd thoughts intruded into his watching, images of faces that were vaguely disquieting. The Roman general, oblivious to something important. A dark-haired woman, beautiful but always frowning, troubled. A blonde Amazon, biting her nails anxiously as she stared at the horizon. Ares had the oddest sense that they were all waiting for him.   
  
A message. The Amazon had wanted him to deliver it. She had no comprehension of the power she was dealing with, no sense of the greatness of the river which she led. She was blind, but he – he could see everything, laid out perfectly in the palm of his hand, there for him to crush, or to set free. The power of it made him giddy.   
  
The message. A ploy to distract him; he knew all about it and dismissed it with ease. The God of War didn't lose focus that easily. The message was supposed to stop this war. How could anyone stop it? It was a force of nature, he wasn't directing it or causing it, but he was enjoying it. The Romans – the Amazons – the Romans again, and soon, very soon, they would collide and the rush of power he would feel would sweep away all the troubling faces, the Roman girl, and the Amazon, and...   
  
Xena?   
  
  
  


Betrayal

  
  


_How insecure are the doors  
  
In the kingdom of Trust  
  
For those who trust only in locks!  
  
And so it's inevitable –  
  
The light of our tenderness  
  
Is extinguished by  
  
The weight of somebody's hand. _  
  
Evgeny Klyachkin, "A Wet Waltz"

  
  
  
  
Despite its name, Moesia Superior had little to recommend it. By reputation it was a land of barbarian tribes that had no appreciation of Latin culture and possessed an unhealthy contempt for authority. Few Romans came this way, preferring the warmer climate and richer pickings of the civilised southern provinces. The few who did come were fugitives, exiles – and now, soldiers.   
  
"It's getting dark," Livia noticed after a moment's silence, or as near to silence as the sound of an army could be, marching over the muddy grass that passed for a road in these parts. She looked at Semra riding alongside her. It was good to have someone to talk to, and she had to admit that the Amazon was more interesting company than any of her other officers. Clad in full Roman armour and riding a tall white horse, it was all too easy to forget that Semra was an Amazon at all. Sometimes, just for a moment, Livia allowed herself to forget it.   
  
Around them, pale velvet reeds were starting to colour with the sunset, waves running over the plain in the dusk. The ground was so damp that neither the men marching in front, nor the thousands that followed them, raised any dust. The view was clear. In the distance, the plain curved upwards to a line of hunchbacked hills, their smooth contours vivid in the evening light.   
  
Beside her, Semra nodded forward over her horse's white mane, towards the hills. "We could camp as soon as we reach higher ground. Once we get past these marshes." A damp swamp smell permeated the air. Small insects buzzed in it.   
  
Livia took a breath, then let it out with a grimace. "If the smell is anything to go by, Moesia's reputation is well-earned. It is the backwater of the Empire."   
  
Semra chuckled. "It's going to get worse before it gets better."   
  
"Is that experience or your natural pessimism speaking?"   
  
"Just fact. There's more marshes past these hills."   
  
"And let me guess," Livia sighed, "more hills past the marshes?"   
  
"Naturally. Only those hills are forest. Marshy forest. We'll have to use the trees to get through the swamps." Semra's blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "By the time we reach the forests of the Amazons, we should be as adept at tree-climbing as they are."   
  
Livia gave her a look of disbelief. "Amazon, we have mules and wagons!"   
  
Semra shrugged with undeniable smugness. "You know what they say. When in the Amazon lands, fight as the Amazons."   
  
Livia glared at her, but a grin was already tugging the corners of her lips upwards, escaping her control. Damn the woman for making her laugh! Not that the prospect of dragging her army through muddy forest was a cause for merriment, but – oh, to Tartarus with it! "Fine," she managed finally, with what she hoped was some dignity. "If the scouts confirm your dire predictions, we leave the baggage train in camp. I'm looking forward to seeing this forest." Pointedly, she looked away from Semra, hiding her smile.   
  
"That doesn't sound very Roman." Semra's voice came unexpectedly quiet. Livia glanced at her sharply. The woman was looking the other way, over the helmets of the general's private guard, over the gold sea of swaying reeds, her body jarring with the hoofbeats. "I've never known a Roman to like forests."   
  
"I didn't say I would like it." Livia was immediately irritated that the Amazon should question her right to call herself Roman. "I said, I look forward to seeing it. If you must know, my reasons are purely Roman. I'm going to survey the ground all the way through these forests and marshes, back to Rome. It's high time someone built a decent road here."   
  
Semra kept her eyes on the men marching in front, their boots squelching in the mud. "Roads bring armies."   
  
"Roads bring trade," Livia countered, satisfied at the turn of conversation. "If the Amazons are to make a useful province for my Empire, I can't very well expect merchants and couriers to climb trees to get there."   
  
Semra blinked in surprise, "A province?"   
  
Livia shrugged, attempting nonchalance. "I don't have to destroy them to conquer them." She guided her horse closer to Semra's, avoiding the worst of the mud. "Free, they're no use at all. But conquered, they're a symbol. Rome can conquer anything – even the Amazons. And it will. I will."   
  
"You know they'd die before they let that happen." There was regret in Semra's voice.   
  
"That's what Ares said, too." Livia had meant to sound dismissive, but she heard the grim note in her own voice. "Well, it's their choice to make. If it is death they want, you and I can oblige them. If not, they can take what Rome has to offer."   
  
"A difficult choice."   
  
She gave her Amazon guide a frown. "You think I'm being soft?"   
  
Semra stilled in the saddle, then expression became surprisingly gentle, at odds with the Roman helmet that framed her face. "No," she said. "No, I think you're right. Completely right."   
  
They rode on in silence among an army of thousands, away from the setting sun.   
  
After a while, Xena looked over at her daughter. The slight gauntness of Livia's profile was softened by the evening light. Xena fought the tenderness that welled in her heart, and the sadness. What could she do? This war was to Livia a necessity, a means of securing her hold on the throne, a thousand things she needed. She wasn't even intending a mindless slaughter; she thought that her offer to merely subjugate them should be welcomed by every Amazon tribe. A fair choice: peace under Rome, or destruction and oblivion. My daughter is Rome, Xena thought. She doesn't know how to be anything else.   
  
"Go easy on the pessimism, Semra. Even my horse can feel it." As if in confirmation, Livia's horse tossed its mane, setting its decorations to jangling.   
  
Xena started. "Whatever makes you think I'm a pessimist?"   
  
Livia gave her a mischievous grin. "I've had a long time to study you. You're not all that hard to figure out."   
  
There was a familiar sinking feeling in Xena's stomach. She was so tired of Semra! Trying to sound lighthearted, she said, "Care to enlighten me?"   
  
"Gladly. You're worried about Eve."   
  
Xena's lips twitched. "That's not much of an insight."   
  
"Oh, I think it is." Livia swivelled in the saddle to see Xena's reaction. "You're worried that Ares won't keep his word."   
  
Xena tensed. She relaxed very deliberately. She wouldn't let herself think about it. What had happened in the villa in Dyrrachium had been a momentary illusion of comfort; it changed nothing. Ares hadn't been around since then, and a part of her felt grateful for that. Another, smaller, part wondered why he stayed away.   
  
Livia gave her a knowing look, but it was friendly. "You worry too much." She gave the reins a light slap to quicken the pace of her reluctant horse. The animal snorted at the mud, but complied. "Ares will get her out long before we reach the Amazons."   
  
"What makes you so sure?"   
  
"I know him," Livia shrugged a little smugly. "He needs me. I'm giving him the war he's dreamed of for years. The God of War wouldn't let some baby stand in the way of that."   
  
"Not even his own?"   
  
"Especially not his own."   
  
The dull worry that seemed to be Xena's constant companion these days flared like a toothache. She said, "If I don't have my daughter—"   
  
"Not that again!"   
  
Impatiently, Livia motioned for Xena to follow her, turning her horse's head and urging it into a faster trot, out of the main body of the column. She waved away her guards, riding through the ranks. Xena rode after her.   
  
When the two of them were out on the open plain among the murmuring reeds, the marching army well behind them, Livia slowed down and turned. The ground sloshed under her horse's uncertain hooves.   
  
"Listen to me," Livia said, "We made a bargain. You know the Amazon forests, I know Ares; it's a fair deal. We won't attack until your daughter is safe, I promised you that! You'll get her back." She paused, as if debating whether to say more, then sighed. "You have my word on that, as a Roman and as... as your friend."   
  
"I pray you're right," Xena said, but did not have the heart to add the look of gratitude Livia probably expected. Livia had called her her friend, but she'd called herself a Roman first. Would that ever change? Time was slipping away. Gabrielle was somewhere out there, alone. It was disconcerting to realise how much she missed Gabrielle, how much she needed her. The thought that there were still hundreds of miles of difficult swampy forest between this army and the Amazons should have been reassuring, but only seemed to make Xena more weary. Gods, how she wished Gabrielle was here...   
  
"See," Livia smirked, "I told you you're a pessimist."   
  
Xena gave her a rueful smile. "I prefer realist."   
  
"General!"   
  
Both women turned as one to the sound of hoodbeats approaching. The young rider reined in his horse with some difficulty; it neighed and rolled its eyes. Xena recognised the freckled face – Rufus.   
  
"Amazons," the tribune said breathlessly, trying to control his skittish horse, "Not a day's ride from here! The scouts are all back."   
  
Cold sweat washed over Xena's body. Amazons? This far west?!   
  
"Good," Livia said without concern, "It's about time we ran into one of their outposts."   
  
But Rufus was shaking his head vehemently, "Not an outpost, General! There's thousands of them, like locusts, the forest past the next valley is boiling!" He glanced at Xena, and she was shocked by the naked hatred distorting his usually friendly face.   
  
"We saw the leader," Rufus raised an accusing finger, "It's Jana. Her friend."   
  
"What?!" Livia and Xena said simultaneously. Xena's knuckles turned white on the reins. Gabrielle!   
  
Rufus pointedly looked only at Livia. "It's Jana."   
  
A pause hovered in the darkening air, heavier than the stench of swamps. "Nonsense," Livia said with the doomed certainty of one who knows it cannot last. "You've never seen Jana."   
  
"I have. So have most of the scouts. She's leading the Amazons against us; all the tribes as one."   
  
"All the tribes?" Xena queried numbly.   
  
Rufus ignored her, but she noticed his eyes dart back to the gathering darkness of the roadside. It seemed to be closing in on her.   
  
The shadow of a calculation flitted over Livia's features. "So," she said to Xena conversationally, "Your friend turned out to be a traitor after all. So much for loyalty. No matter, we can do without her."   
  
"Commander!" Rufus gasped, aghast. "This woman's betrayed us all, she's leading us straight into the Amazons' trap!"   
  
"Shut up!" Livia snarled with such force that Rufus blanched. "I lead this army, do you understand?"   
  
"Yes, General," he mumbled, but Xena caught the indignant confusion in his tone that edged perilously close to insubordination. Did Livia notice?   
  
"Now." Livia sat back in the saddle. "We get out of these marshes and make a fortified camp, immediately. Send out more scouts; I want a full report by tonight."   
  
"But what about her?"   
  
"That is none of your concern, tribune," Livia said stiffly, her voice hiding a warning. Then, under her breath, she added to Xena, "Tonight. You will go with Ares, find Eve yourself." Aloud, she said, "We attack as soon as we're ready. The fools are making it easy for us! All in one place like this, we can crush—"   
  
"Wait," Xena said. She paused in the silence that followed, unable to go on.   
  
Livia shook her head, her lip curling back in angry denial. The challenge in her eyes turned almost to a plea, and with a building sense of panic Xena knew she could do nothing about it.   
  
"I have men on standby," Rufus offered, "ready for your orders, General." To Xena he added, "Don't try anything, you're surrounded." It came out a little boyishly. Wryly, Xena thought that he must have longed for a chance to say that for years.   
  
At Rufus' signal the shadows shifted and became the shapes of armed men. With trained detachment, Xena counted at least thirty, well spaced around them.   
  
"Well?" Livia prompted.   
  
Xena felt the trap spring shut, but it wasn't the ring of Roman soldiers that did it. She saw the need in her daughter's pale face, the demand that Semra say the right words, curse Jana's treachery, cry for vengeance with the fury of a true Amazon. Livia was giving her a chance, gambling everything on it: her better judgement, the respect of her men...   
  
She could have her daughter back, Xena thought. In this one moment, she could do it.   
  
All she had to do was betray Gabrielle.   
  
"I'm so sorry," Xena whispered, holding her daughter's gaze, appalled at the way it dimmed and folded in on itself, drawing away from her. "I lied to you..."   
  
Those words, those precious words she had longed to say became a grubby little trick. Another lie; it seemed there could be nothing else between them – everything was built on lies, and it was all falling apart. There were no more straws to grasp, and Xena could only watch helplessly as her daughter became the Champion of Rome again, foreign and unknowable. Only this time, it was her own doing.   
  
Some mother she was.   
  
Livia turned aside and waved a dismissive hand, all business. "Take her away."   
  
Then she motioned at Rufus and the two of them rode slowly out of the circle of guards, back to the road. Distantly, Xena thought someone must have stopped the march before, because the column was only resuming its movement now, she could hear the low thunder of boots, hooves and wheels starting again.   
  
She did not resist as the soldiers closed in, taking the reins of her horse. The animal worried and tried to shy away from unfamiliar hands; Xena soothed it with one hand on its warm flank, stroking the white silky coat gently, like a child's hair. Her captors were uncomfortable, too used to thinking of her as their commander. Between the cheek-guards of their helmets, their faces seemed all alike in the fuzzy greying evening, differing only in the shadows of their expressions: some angry, others almost sympathetic, or wary, or curious.   
  
"Get down," said one of the men gruffly.   
  
Xena obeyed, sliding from the saddle. The soft reeds flattened under her feet as she sank ankle-deep in the mud. Bad ground for running, observed a practical voice in her head, out of habit. Like treading treacle. Better to stand and fight.   
  
"Turn around."   
  
She did, waiting as someone twisted a length of rope behind her to hold her hands.   
  
"Semra."   
  
Xena's heart leapt. She looked up. Livia had stopped her horse and was looking at her from the height of her saddle, her gaze flat and empty, dark against the setting sun. She smiled crookedly. "We're more alike than I thought, Amazon. You see – I'm a realist, too."   
  


* * *

  
  
"You're sure?" Gabrielle repeated, feeling suddenly claustrophobic in the command tent. There were too many people: scouts, Varia, other queens...   
  
"Positive," the scout confirmed. She was one of the southerners, fleet-footed and dark, with eyes that glittered like a bird's and were just as keen. "We saw them, right there." She jabbed a finger at a hill on the map, an alarmingly short distance away.   
  
"Making camp?"   
  
"And building fortifications."   
  
Gabrielle looked up at Varia, then at the others. They all wore identical expressions, and Gabrielle knew they shared the same conclusion: this was it.   
  
"We should attack now, before they're organised," said Prothoë. "Press our advantage." Others muttered their agreement.   
  
"Thank you," Gabrielle said to the scout, and watched the girl make her way out of the tent. The whole thing felt like a nightmare, where simply imagining the worst made it real.   
  
The Romans were here. This was a fact. Gabrielle struggled to arrange others around it. Options, what were her options? Perhaps Ares never gave Xena the message. Yet even without it, surely she wouldn't let them attack the Amazons... Or perhaps Xena had misunderstood it. Or – and this last one tore at Gabrielle guiltily – maybe Xena had received it, read it and decided that any army capable of destroying Rome deserved a chance to try. Maybe she'd led the Romans here deliberately. Xena had always hated Rome; now that she had her daughter, could she really keep her safe and lead all those soldiers to their deaths? Was she trusting Gabrielle to win this war? A little part of her felt flattered that Xena would trust her with such a thing – and that terrified her.   
  
"We build fortifications," Gabrielle said, shivering as she looked at the map. "And send out more scouts. We'll attack when we're ready, not before."   
  
"Lunacy!" snapped Prothoë. "We are ready now! Why waste a perfect chance? We could run them over before they know what hit them."   
  
"I said, we wait." Gabrielle thought fast. "It could be a trap. If they're building fortifications, they already know we're here."   
  
"Then why aren't they attacking?"   
  
"Could be the marshes," Cyane spoke up doubtfully, and Varia nodded – "The valley between us and that hill is all swamps. More swamps to the west, too. Not enough room to deploy, nowhere to retreat. We won't manage to dislodge them off that hill, even if we do reach them before they've fortified their camp. Not unless we find some dry ground." Cyane raised her eyes from the map. "Gabrielle is right. We can't move until we have the scouts' report."   
  
Grateful for the support, Gabrielle sagged onto her stool. "Varia," she said, "can I ask you to organise our fortifications?"   
  
"Of course."   
  
Gabrielle looked around, making sure they were listening. "We'll need everyone's support on this. There will be no attack until we know exactly what's going on. We must be ready."   
  
There were reluctant nods, and Prothoë frowned in displeasure, but no one voiced an objection. It would have to do.   
  
"The council will meet again tomorrow, at dawn."   
  
Salutes were exchanged, and then everyone was filing out. Gabrielle stared at the map, at the faint brownish mark left by the scout's finger. "Xena," she murmured, "what are you doing?"   
  
"You know what she's doing," came a deep, familiar voice from the shadows. Gabrielle whirled about so abruptly that the stool folded under her and she found herself on the floor, staring up at the God of War. He looked on in amusement, one hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. "Need a hand?"   
  
"Ares!" Gabrielle scrambled to her feet, blood pounding in her head. She grit her teeth, "I knew it! What have you done to Xena?"   
  
Even before the words left her mouth, Gabrielle became conscious of a difference in him. Something had changed since their last meeting in forest. She took an involuntary step back. There was a new coldness in Ares' face, and his usual self-assured smirk was more condescension than humour. His eyes were flat, but they burned with something hard and unforgiving, like the rubies in his gauntlets and sword.   
  
Gabrielle felt suddenly uncertain. Softly, she echoed, "What have you done..."   
  
"Done?" His smirk widened almost into a smile. "Why, nothing, Gabrielle. Nothing at all."   
  
She had a choice, Gabrielle realised. Panic, or anger. She chose anger. "Nothing?! Then why is the Roman army making camp on the next hill as we speak?"   
  
"I assume even the Romans need to sleep."   
  
"Dammit, Ares!" she exploded, "Don't play with me!" She took a breath, advancing on him, trying to ignore the whimper of fear in her stomach. "Why is that army here?"   
  
That insufferable smile was still on his face. "You tell me. I thought the plan was to hide them in their forests, oh, about two hundred miles east of this place."   
  
"Not my army! The Romans." Gabrielle felt her voice shake treacherously. Gods, she was all right, she wasn't going to break down now, not in front of Ares...   
  
"Your army." He lowered his voice to a near-whisper, and looked right into her eyes. Gabrielle gasped. A wave of desire washed over her, a twist of white-hot flames. Her lips opened on an inarticulate sound, teased and tormented past all comprehension, until all she knew was that she wanted it, wanted this nameless thing, and then with no warning at all, she had it. Power. It thrummed through her muscles, and for a single heartbeat, she was invincible, ancient and very young, vital. So powerful.   
  
Then it was gone. Gabrielle felt her legs give way. She staggered, caught herself on the edge of the map-table. "What was that?" she breathed.   
  
"Power," Ares said matter-of-factly. His voice was like a splash of cold water on her face; Gabrielle stood straight again, trembling lightly.   
  
"Power?"   
  
Ares looked at her in amused pity. "That's what it's all about, little girl. You wanted to know what the Romans are doing? Now you do. That's how I feel every day of my life. It's how Livia feels now. It's war."   
  
"War," Gabrielle heard herself repeat stupidly.   
  
"Yeah," Ares said, and this time, he did not smile at all. "It's war."   
  
He tilted his head back, and Gabrielle realised he was about to disappear. In the same moment, something clicked in her mind – "Wait!"   
  
Ares looked back at her.   
  
"You said Livia," Gabrielle blurted out. "It's how Livia feels now. What about Xena?" Then certainty dropped like a lump of ice into her gut. "Xena didn't get through to her, did she. It's still Livia's army out there. She is leading it, not Xena."   
  
Surprise touched Ares' face, and then something else, something directed at her. Almost... admiration. As though he had given her a puzzle and she had found its meaning.   
  
"Is Xena all right?" Gabrielle asked shakily. "Please... I have to know."   
  
"For now," Ares said, but the look he gave her was not at all reassuring. Then the room was suddenly empty. The God of War vanished so soundlessly that for a moment, Gabrielle wondered if he had been there at all.   
  
She bent down to pick up her stool with slow, jerky movements, and set it meticulously upright. My army, she had said to Ares. Gods... What had she done? And what had she done to Xena?   
  


* * *

  
  
The air whined – and slashed across Xena's back, another line of fire. And again. The whip paused, and Xena snatched a breath, staring mindlessly at the tent wall before her face. The dank air tasted like sweat. She tried to empty her soul, to focus on those long-gone words of Lao Ma's: stop willing, stop desiring, stop hating.   
  
She couldn't... she couldn't do it, couldn't stop thinking, and when the whip returned it made no difference at all. It cut her again, but the pain was a distant dread on the edge of her perception. Xena put all her efforts into trying to control the rage that lashed her from within, and every time the whip licked her back it unfolded a little more, gained strength, tempting her. She ground her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. It didn't help. All she could see was red, an endless sea of red filled with hatred and an ancient agony. Her mind could no longer separate Ares' face from Caesar's, or this whip from the ropes of her cross. She knew this rage, this dark thing hatching in her soul. Betrayal. The whip struck her again.   
  
How could she have been so blind? Her daughter had told her that she was giving Ares the war of his dreams, and still it hadn't hit home; Xena could not forgive herself for it, didn't want to. Ares knew, must have known what had happened to Gabrielle, why she was leading the Amazons in war, and he didn't tell her. And a damned, stupid part of her had listened to his lies, had wanted to believe that he cared about Eve... Enough to let her live again. He sang with her! He had sat beside her, pretending to be human, to understand, while all the while Gabrielle was calling for help somewhere... And she'd let him touch her. Gods, after all these years she'd let him touch her... Wanted him to touch her, longed for warm hands on her bare skin, for the taste of his lips... The next blow seemed to slash right across her heart, and Xena couldn't bear it any longer. She screamed.   
  
The sound rose over her ponderously, unfurling black wings, then shot out from the tent, as though scattering into a flock of shrieking ravens over the camp. In a corner of her mind that was too distant for pain, Xena imagined soldiers dropping their tasks to glance fearfully at her prison, shuddering at the inhuman sound.   
  
The whipping stopped, fading into the silence of breaths. Xena again became aware of the featureless brown leather of the wall before her. Her view became obscured by the tunic of a Roman soldier. There was a fine spray of red on it.   
  
"Sorry 'bout that," his voice sounded from far above her, the sincere but impersonal apology of a man who had completed an unpleasant duty. "Rome's not fond of traitors."   
  
Xena moved her head, without looking up. She could not speak for fear that the black rage inside her, barely leashed, would break free. She didn't want to hurt this soldier. Not him.   
  
He retied the ropes around her wrists and jerked Xena backwards into a sitting position on the earthen floor. Her back screeched into agony. By the time she had disentangled the pain from her mind, she was alone in the bare tent.   
  
It didn't last long.   
  
The familiar ripple of awareness engulfed her, searing broken skin. Even before it was over, Xena had struggled to her feet, twisting to adjust the linen wrap crossed over her hips and breasts, standing up awkwardly with bound feet and hands. She would not face him kneeling.   
  
Ares' appearance was utterly silent, the way it hadn't been in years; the power it radiated needed no flash of light to make itself felt. He materialised into the space before her, a thicker black in the dim air, then became real. The metal studs on his vest gleamed dully in the half-light. His eyes were hooded, his stance impassive. He had appeared this way when he'd framed her for murder all those years ago, trying to force her to return to him. Beyond arrogance, it was the cold assumption of a god that no mortal could withstand his will.   
  
Xena raised her eyes to his. She saw no trace in them of the man whose hand had stroked her shoulder in uneasy comfort, so sincere she had almost believed it. That had been a passing joke. Now, she was looking at the God of War as he truly was. He held out his hand.   
  
"Come with me."   
  
Xena felt the ropes slip from her wrists and ankles, freeing her. Her mouth distended into the mockery of a smile. "I've already come too far with you, Ares. It ends here."   
  
"Does it?" He gave her a tolerant smile, as though he had expected this answer, and lowered his hand. "I think Gabrielle will disagree."   
  
Xena felt the blood leave her face. "Gabrielle?"   
  
"Yeah. You see, for her, things are only just beginning. Tell me, Xena, have you ever seen an Amazon council?"   
  
"Once," Xena admitted before she could stop herself. This was no time for his games! She wanted to yell, but something stopped her, a ripple of power in Ares' eyes. "I killed them," she said abruptly, like ripping back a bandage. "All the elders of the Northern tribes, the whole council. I killed them all."   
  
"That's all blood under the bridge. This is now. You sent Gabrielle to face the new Amazon council, and..." Ares shrugged imperturbably. "Let's just say your retreat-into-the-forest idea wasn't a big hit. So now they're here, and there's not a thing Gabrielle can do. Except play along. That's right – you've turned her into quite a little warrior, haven't you?"   
  
Xena said nothing.   
  
"So what now? Oh, you can martyr yourself right here, in this excuse for a prison, the Romans will be happy to oblige. But you do that, and you'll be leaving Gabrielle to Livia. Do you really think Gabrielle can win that battle?" He paused, and a flicker of emotion touched his dark-glowing eyes. "My money's on our daughter."   
  
His words cut Xena the way the whip could not. Gabrielle, her Gabrielle... Livia wanted to fight her. Ares was right; Gabrielle was in trouble! And she was here, unable to help. How could she have let it happen? Gabrielle had gone to face scattered tribes and instead found a nation of warriors.   
  
A nation of warriors. For a moment, Xena frowned at the words, unsure why they sounded familiar. Then she remembered and her breath caught: What touching concern for a nation of warriors. Ares! He'd said that when she asked him to take Gabrielle to their lands.   
  
So the Amazons had been united all along, and Ares had known it and told her nothing, taking Gabrielle from her with a flick of his hand. And she had thanked him for it.   
  
For a moment, she could not speak.   
  
Ares held out his hand again. "Come with me. I'm taking you to the Amazon camp. It's time Gabrielle got a pleasant surprise."   
  
Xena raised her face. The woman who answered was the Destroyer of Nations, leaving her god.   
  
"No."   
  
"No?"   
  
"I'm staying here."   
  
Ares' eyes came alive suddenly, flashing with disbelief and then anger. The aura of power fled like fog. "Are you insane? What do you think you're doing? You let them take you, beat you like some common slave! You could've—"   
  
"What? I could've what, Ares? Joined my daughter in slaughtering Gabrielle and the Amazons? Or come with you now to join them in destroying my own child?"   
  
"You could've joined me, and none of this would've happened!" A mad glint came into his eyes, like tears. "I offered you everything back in Rome; you could've had it all – Eve, the Amazons, everything – but you turned me down. You wanted to do it your way? Well, welcome to the end of the road!"   
  
"You did this," Xena hissed, choking with rage, "Gabrielle didn't unite the Amazons, you son of a bitch! It would have taken months, years – but she didn't need to, did she? Because they were already united. Even Livia didn't know; it would have ruined your perfect war, spoiled the surprise. Then all you had to do was force Gabrielle into your service and you had your war: Eve against Gabrielle! The only two people I care about. That's what you've wanted all along."   
  
"Xena—"   
  
"No!" She grabbed the front of his vest; she felt like the welts on her back were consuming her, turning her chest raw until she tasted blood. "Did you think I'd snap, Ares? Break my chains like the last time you had me trapped – and kill them all? Eve, Gabrielle, until there was no one left... Until I was yours again! Was that the plan?"   
  
Ares' mouth became a snarl, he jerked away. "You might not believe me, but my offer was genuine. We could've gone away from all this, you and I, and our daughter – but you wanted the Amazons warned."   
  
"It would've worked, if you'd bothered to tell me just how strong they'd become! But you wanted your war, at any cost."   
  
"Not with the blonde as their queen!" He flushed darkly. "You might not believe me, but that was never my plan; your precious Gabrielle had no help from me. That army out there? That's her doing. Bet you didn't think she had it in her! Well neither did I."   
  
Xena's body stiffened, shut down. Breathing was hard. "Gabrielle did that?" He was lying; he had to be. Gabrielle couldn't have done it alone... But even as she thought it, Xena remembered the Amazon council she had seen, and knew that they wouldn't have given Gabrielle a choice. Being an Amazon meant being a warrior; leading an army against her will – and against her friend... What was it doing to Gabrielle? Why had she let her go?!   
  
And Eve. It was Eve whose army would face Gabrielle's.   
  
"You could've stopped it." Ares' eyes were boring into her, he was everywhere around her, impossible to escape. "You had the chance, and you threw it away. Now Eve thinks you're a traitor – and she'll stop at nothing to make you pay, not until she's destroyed everything you hold dear. Starting with Gabrielle. Rome hates traitors, Xena. Eve hates you."   
  
Xena felt mute, unable even to deny it. Ares seized her shoulders, exploding her back into such pain that the tent lurched around her and her legs threatened to gave way. He paid it no heed, his eyes wild, staring into hers. "How does it feel – knowing that the person you love despises you? Trying to reach her, but knowing that in the end it will either be her, or you?"   
  
Xena felt a terrible calm take her. "To hear you speak of love..." She brought her mouth to his, then past it, to his ear. "It makes me sick to my soul."   
  
He dropped her abruptly, as though her skin had scalded him. Xena fought for her balance, found it, stood watching him. For a moment there was silence; all she could hear was Ares' breathing, laboured as if he had screamed his throat bloody, even though he had barely raised his voice. Then he spoke, and this time the words were polished steel, a clean slice into flesh.   
  
"Eve and Gabrielle are doomed, because I make you sick." His jaw tightened into a semblance of a smile then past it, until moisture shone in his eyes. "Okay," he said, backing away a step, "but if I sicken your soul – this war is going to kill it."   
  
Then he was gone, suddenly absent from Xena's every sense. She forgot the pain, all that mattered was that she had let herself be betrayed once again, and it had cost her her daughter and Gabrielle. She moved after Ares uselessly and stumbled, falling to her knees on the ground. The ropes were back, and she was bound more tightly than ever before.   
  


* * *

  
  
Livia came out of her tent onto the artificial hillock that was its base and stood quiet a moment, her eyes recording details that her mind refused to recognise as important. The night was cool and still, black sky pierced by countless stars. The camp smelled of woodfires and burnt porridge, familiar smells made foreign by the fainter undercurrent of swamps in the air. Here and there, campfires flickered among the squat leather tents, chasing back the night from small circles of reddish warmth. Her soldiers clustered around them, mending weapons and kit, or finishing their evening meal, greasy fingers sopping up the last of the porridge with rough chunks of black bread. Conversation was subdued, curiously muffled without the usual ribald laughter and shouts, like the murmur of onlookers at the scene of a murder. More like a suicide, Livia smirked sourly at herself.   
  
She yanked her cloak closer around her shoulders and stepped out onto the wide packed earth of the Via Principalis. A guard made a questioning motion, but she shook her head curtly. The last thing she needed was an escort. She needed to be alone, to trust no one but herself, just as she had always done. Semra had kept telling her to trust her heart. That figured, Livia thought. Her heart was a traitor, too. Three turns off the Via Principalis would bring her to the tent where the Amazon was being held. Right, then left, then right again. A small distance to negotiate. She could do it.   
  
She pretended not to notice the way her men nudged each other as she went past, whispering with furtive glances in her direction. She knew what they were thinking, what unspoken thought made the air hum with tension. Semra's betrayal had been a sign: their general's luck had run out.   
  
Fortuna had abandoned her Champion.   
  
Livia forced her stride to be measured and calm, mentally counting the rhythm. Fortuna had abandoned her Champion. The thought did not fill her with superstitious horror, but with a tooth-grinding resentment. All her work, everything she had achieved, the fools laid at the feet of their mythical goddess. Yet that was how it had to be. What other way was there for a Thracian foundling to command Roman legions or rule Roman masses? They loved her because they thought Fortuna loved her. Fortuna existed only in their minds, and it was their minds Livia knew she had to ease if she were to keep their loyalty and their awe. Nothing else mattered, not the way her traitor heart had listened so avidly to Semra's earnest lies and lulled all suspicions, nor that Ares must have been in on the deception all along. Later, Livia promised herself as she walked, later she would think about how she had allowed it to happen. Right now she had to regain the trust of her men, their willingness to live or die as she commanded.   
  
Their fear of the unexpectedly formidable Amazons showed plain in their hunched shoulders and grim faces, and several times Livia heard snatches of stories of the wild women of the tribes, told by men trying to cover their fear to men whose own fear grew with each word. If she lost them now, she would lose the war. And if she lost the war, she would lose Rome.   
  
Livia crossed her hands behind her back and walked on; a general taking the measure of her troops. Her eyes, coolly neutral, met the eyes of a young ranker warming his porridge over a fire. The man gave a visible start, dropped his eyes hastily and scampered away into the night. Livia wondered briefly if it was fear that drove him, or humiliation, shame at the way his general had allowed herself to be betrayed. It did not matter, she decided. He would have no cause to doubt her after she'd had her revenge on Semra.   
  
The prison block came into view when Livia rounded the last corner. It was a small tent, each side scarcely five paces across. There was a row of wickedly sharp stakes around it, facing inward like watching guards. Two armed guards of the human variety blocked the entrance, both looking as unsettled as only a Roman soldier could in moments like this. Livia would have wagered that it was not the thought of fighting the Amazons that bothered them so, but the superstitious dread that they were doomed before the battle had even begun, because Fortuna had abandoned their ranks.   
  
Damn Ares and his fucking plots! He had played this war like a game, moving his pieces on both sides. She should have known that he would not be satisfied with her promise of conquering the Amazons. The God of War wanted a great battle. Under normal circumstances she would have been only too happy to give it to him, but now he had left her no choice, and that rankled. Damn it, she was the Champion of Rome, and he had treated her as nothing more than another warlord in his service!   
  
And Semra. What was she to him? Didn't he trust Livia to give him a great battle without ensnaring her with all those lies about banished Amazons and missing children?   
  
Livia frowned at the guards. Something was wrong with the picture she was seeing. There was more to this than Ares' desire for battles, and somehow it all came back to Semra, and the way Ares had lied for her. In all the years she had known Ares, she had never known him to do that. She didn't understand it, and that frightened her. There was a game here, and unless she worked out the rules, she would be nothing but a dispensable pawn, to be discarded when no longer useful.   
  
No! Livia squashed the little girl that surfaced in her thoughts. She wasn't a pawn. That was Semra. Semra had been arrested and Ares had not interfered. Perhaps there was a way out of this after all, and Semra would give her the key. She would find out from Semra every last shred of truth, about her and about Ares and about the Amazons... Provided, Livia thought with a sudden lurch of fear, that Semra was still in that tent.   
  
Critically, she assessed its fortifications, the palisade and the guards standing at attention, their eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond her. Neither stakes nor guards would keep Ares from rescuing Semra if he so chose. If her gut feeling was right, he wouldn't do that; anyone who needed his help didn't deserve it. But what if she was wrong, and Semra was even now telling the Amazons all she knew of the Roman army?   
  
Then, Livia thought clinically, the game was up. They would beat a hasty retreat tonight, she would pay off her men as best she could out of her own coffers, and then they would go to their farms and smithies, and she would go.. where? Home? Livia tossed her head at the thought and strolled slowly toward the prison tent, as though her fate wasn't riding on what awaited her within.   
  
The two men at the entrance stood aside as she approached, unfastening the leather flap and holding it open for her. Livia could see nothing but darkness beyond it, the contrast making her aware of the pale moonlight that sketched the guards' faces.   
  
"Lepidus," she greeted the senior of the two. Despite the patrician name, he was a thick-necked Picentine with small eyes and a face that looked ruddy even in the weak light.   
  
"Fortuna's Champion," he saluted her gravely. If his deference hid any mockery, Livia could not see it.   
  
"Everything under control?" She made her tone brisk, hoping it did not betray the urgency she felt.   
  
"Just as you ordered, General. No incidents."   
  
"None at all?" Livia pressed. With an effort, she injected some humour into her tone, "No mysterious flashes of light?" She caught the confused look that passed between the guards, and added lightly, "No woman-turned-bird flying out?"   
  
The two men laughed uncertainly. "No, General," said the second, a stocky fellow with deep-set eyes. "No lights, no birds."   
  
Livia felt a sudden, dizzy relief – she'd been right! Ares had not taken Semra away; she was nothing to him now, she had no bearing on the battle... Something else tried to edge its way into her mind, but the thought was startled by the guard's voice.   
  
"I reckon Lepidus here might've clipped her wings a bit." He gave his partner a bare-toothed grin, and the Picentine patted the whip at his belt, shrugging with the air of a tradesman. "She's a screamer."   
  
With a steel flash, Livia thrust the point of her sword under Lepidus' blunt chin. "I gave no orders to harm her!"   
  
"N-no," Lepidus stammered at her sword, his face not just ruddy now but a brilliant red, "Not in so many words, no – but she's a traitor to Rome, worse than them three back in Dyrrachium!"   
  
Livia wanted to drive the sword right up, through the guard's thick neck. Finally, she removed it. "You were set to guard my property. If I find that your damage has rendered her useless to my campaign..." She let the threat dangle.   
  
The man's throat bobbed and Livia could see thick veins straining in his neck, below his ear. "No, General. It was only a whipping, I swear."   
  
"Hm." Livia let him sweat under her gaze for another silent moment, then turned abruptly and entered the dark tent.   
  
The smell hit her first: sour sweat, urine and blood. It made her eyes water, and it was a moment before she spotted Semra in the thin wedge of light from the doorway. Disgust added itself into the relief Livia felt, and the mixture roiled and twisted nauseatingly in her stomach. The Amazon was indeed here, but she was unrecognisable. She sat motionless against the back wall of the tent, staring at a burnt-out lantern before her, legs folded under her, hands tied at her back. Her once-glossy dark hair fell in lank strands over her face and bare shoulders. Her armour and tunic were gone; instead, a length of coarse linen wrapped her body, off-white except where it stuck to her sides in dark merging stripes with angry edges. Blood. Livia could not see the woman's back from where she stood, and didn't want to. She knew what it would look like.   
  
To her horror, Livia felt the stinging return to her eyes. Unbidden memories surfaced. Her own whip cracking uselessly against a man's back while Marcus lay dead on a couch of red velvet... And worse, Semra's wordless sympathy, making her feel like a child again, powerless to change anything.   
  
Well, she wasn't powerless now! She walked briskly towards Semra's huddled form, the stinging in her eyes gone. Semra lifted her head at the sound of footsteps, and Livia noted with relief that she was perfectly conscious. Good. She would not let her slip away and steal her revenge.   
  
"Amazon." Livia kicked the lantern aside and squatted in its place, face level with Semra's. "You know why I'm here."   
  
Semra's emotionless, hollow-cheeked face did not change, but a glimmer in the corner of her eye became a tear. It left a shimmering wet trail on her cheek. Livia felt an irrational impulse to wipe it away. Instead she grabbed Semra's chin impatiently, forcing her to meet her eyes. Damn the woman for turning this into an Athenian tragedy!   
  
"Don't make me despise you any more than I do already. That was a warning; you won't have another. Do we understand each other?"   
  
Semra tilted her head slightly. Livia decided it would do. She released her chin. "Now. You're going to tell me everything I want to know, and I mean everything." She gave the woman a thin smile, like the blade of a knife. "Who knows. The truth might set you free."   
  
"What do you want to know?" Semra's voice came as a shock, hoarse as if with years of disuse, instead of the few hours that had passed since her arrest.   
  
"You can start by telling me what you did to get Ares on your side."   
  
The intensity that flashed in the Semra's eyes was unsettling; Livia realised that the woman must want her revenge on him, too. It was strange to see her own hatred glittering back at her out of Semra's bright eyes.   
  
"He's not on my side."   
  
"Not anymore, that much is obvious." Livia broke the contact and let her gaze flicker contemptuously over Semra's miserable form, her tied hands and feet and her stained wrap. "If he was still on your side, he might've thought to help you out."   
  
"Ares helps no one but himself!" A twist of pain passed over Semra's face and then it softened, lifting to Livia's as though she prayed. "Livia, listen to me. You said it yourself, this is the war he's dreamed of for years. Don't you see that Ares is using you? He doesn't care about you. He just needs you for this war, the same reason he needed me..."   
  
"Enough!" Livia's hand flew to Semra's cheek, but some instinct made her stop short of striking it. Her hand hovered beside the woman's expressionless face until Livia found the control she wanted. She took a long breath and dropped her hand.   
  
"Of course Ares needs me for this war. What he doesn't need is you. Why should he, when he has Jana?" She gave Semra a probing stare. "It seems that Ares has finally found a worthy opponent for the Champion of Rome. I must remember to thank him."   
  
Hot pain came into the woman's eyes, and Livia smiled in triumph. "Feeling left out? You're finished, Semra. Ares doesn't need you anymore, and frankly," she sighed in mock pity, "neither do I."   
  
To Livia's surprise, all pain drained from Semra's face and she only nodded, like a commander listening to a scout's inventory of a much larger enemy force. "In that case, why keep me alive?"   
  
Livia could not help a flicker of admiration. Whatever else she was, the woman was a true warrior. She knew how to die well.   
  
"Call it curiosity. I want to know what Ares ever saw in you."   
  
"I've told you, he didn't—"   
  
"Liar!" The word echoed in the tent. Livia flushed, angry at herself for losing control. Quietly, she said, "You've told me nothing. I want to know..."   
  
She paused, and then recalled the thought she would not let into her mind earlier. A memory pierced her, a hot dart of humiliation. The imperial palace in Rome, the throbbing pulse of the music; Ares and Semra so close together, their hushed, emphatic voices. Then Ares' hands around Semra's waist, her face raised to his... Like a laugh in Livia's face. Their kiss.   
  
She glared at Semra, trying to regain her detached air. It was impossible, she could hear the hated pain in her voice as soon as she spoke: "What you were doing at the bacchanalia? I saw you. Ares was slobbering all over you."   
  
"That..." Understanding swept over Semra's face. She knit her brows in pity or guilt. "It wasn't ... that." She shook her head quickly, dismissing excuses. "I'm sorry."   
  
It was a confession, and Livia felt a hollow conclusion inside: Semra had to die. Up until that moment she hadn't realised that she'd been hoping Semra would have an explanation, something to save herself. Well. It didn't matter. The woman had seen her weak and powerless; she could not be allowed to witness it and survive. Semra had to die. But not before Livia found out what she needed to know.   
  
"So he fucked you. You think I didn't know? Don't bother apologising, I couldn't care less. Besides, you're not bad looking, or at least you didn't use to be." Livia held the edge of Semra's blood-encrusted wrap between two fingers, then dropped it in revulsion. She clenched her teeth. "But he lied for you. Lied to me! I was meant to be his Warrior Queen, but he wouldn't even touch me – and then he helps you betray me. You know what's going on, so just fucking tell me! Why should the God of War spurn Rome's Champion?"   
  
Semra squeezed her eyes shut briefly, as though she had been steeling herself against this very question. Then her pale gaze returned to Livia, and it seemed to ask for her forgiveness. "Because the Champion of Rome is his daughter."   
  
An inexplicable fear froze Livia's chest, stopping her heart. "What?"   
  
"It's true." Semra's lips curved bitterly and Livia recognised her own expression, greeting the sour joke that was life. "Ask him."   
  
"My father, Ares?... You're crazy!"   
  
Semra said nothing.   
  
Livia laughed, a short high-pitched sound that edged on hysteria. "How would you know!"   
  
"I know." Semra's lips turned pale, but there were darker spots of colour in her cheeks that made her look feverish, not quite human. "I know," she repeated with sudden clarity, "I know your first smile, your first breath, your tears... I am your mother."   
  
"You ... are my mother." The words fell like raindrops, a pattering barrage on Livia's skin. Insane; the woman was either insane or delirious from her wounds – so why did a whispering part of her heart want so badly to believe it? Semra couldn't be her mother, she was far too young for one thing... Maybe she was the one who was insane, and this was a trick of her own mind? – but no, she couldn't be, not when she was so close to achieving all her dreams, she couldn't lose now, not ever...   
  
"You're my daughter," Semra implored, "Your name is Eve."   
  
"Eve." Livia clutched the familiar name, and then the slide into madness halted, faltering. She glared at Semra's white face, "So that's your game!" The giddy realisation of this new betrayal was too powerful to fight. All those things she had told this woman about her parents, about Marcus!   
  
Livia leapt to her feet, ignoring the protest in her legs, backing away, her head moving from side to side. "You think you know me? You think you can use all that garbage I told you against me, and I'll just lap it up? You think I want a mother so badly that I'll spare your worthless hide?"   
  
"Eve, you are so much more than this—"   
  
"Shut up!" She kicked out and Semra doubled forward, her mouth clacking shut, her hands going to her stomach. The ruined skin of her back split with a sickening noise and the stains on her torn wrap grew wider, brighter.   
  
Livia leaned down to gather the woman's hair and yanked it back sharply, drawing a short gasp from her. "I have a mother all right, and her name is Rome." The sneer she attempted came out crooked. "It was a good plan, I'll give you that. Trying to find my weaknesses to destroy me. It might've even worked – if I'd had any!"   
  
Semra's blue eyes were huge; Livia realised that it was fear, and that it was only the second time she had seen Semra be afraid. The first had been her arrest. Good, she was finally getting it! She twisted her wrist cruelly on Semra's blood-matted hair, once, then let go and wiped her hands on the sides of her tunic in distaste.   
  
"Eve," the woman pleaded, "I know it sounds incredible..."   
  
"No more incredible than your other lies! But I'm through listening to you. I found out what I needed to know." Livia traced a sharp fingernail down the line of Semra's tear, annoyed that the woman did not draw back from the pain. The nail left a white welt on her cheek that darkened to pink and then red. Semra made no sound.   
  
"I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm afraid I have a prior engagement with your pal Jana." She raised a silencing hand. "Don't tell me – she's your daughter, too? Or maybe mine? Well, Mother, you can fill me in on all the creative details when she's dead."   
  


* * *

  
  
Gabrielle lifted her head, surprised to see Varia return so soon after the council had been dismissed. She frowned at the doorway through the smoky air. "Is it about the fortifications?"   
  
Varia ducked inside the large five-sided tent, rattling the strings of beads at the entrance, and stood there, uncharacteristically hesitant. Her eyes wandered from Gabrielle to the map spread out on the table before her. "It's not..." she said at last, ostensibly to the map. "Not about that."   
  
"The scouts?" They couldn't be back yet, surely...   
  
"No." There was an apprehension in Varia's tone that Gabrielle had never heard before. Dread caught her, adding to the barely-contained panic inside; she had the dizzy sensation that she would not be able to cope with another disaster, that she was already holding on by the thinnest of threads and it could break at any moment.   
  
She rose and crossed the reed-strewn floor, meeting Varia halfway. The Amazon flinched at the intensity of her stare. "Varia, what is it?"   
  
Varia was still not looking at her. "Have you heard from Xena?"   
  
Phrased so baldly, the question stung. Slowly, Gabrielle shook her head. "No." It was hard to admit the fear in her heart. Her thoughts kept returning to what Ares had told her about the Romans remaining loyal to Livia. He'd said that Xena was all right 'for now'. But how long was 'now'? And what threatened her after that? "I expected a message, or—"   
  
"That's why you're holding off the attack," Varia said, making it a statement. "You're worried about Xena. Don't you think she can handle herself in combat?"   
  
Gabrielle felt a twinge of resentment. "It's not just Xena! I'm worried about what this means. We have no idea what's going on in there. Did Xena not have enough time to stop them? Or did she fail, is she... is she hurt?"   
  
Or is she laughing with Livia and Ares as they make plans together, had the temptation of an army proved too much? No, Gabrielle thought, Xena had changed. Had she, herself, changed also? She should have fought harder, sent a message earlier, ensured that Xena got it, somehow – found some way to stop this before it got so out of hand! Before she had turned herself into the Amazons' warrior queen. What would Xena think if she saw her now? Gabrielle felt her face burn hot with helpless shame. Swearing to protect the Amazons had seemed so noble, so right. Just one vow. Was this how it all started for Xena?   
  
She let out a long breath, and it felt like the remainder of her strength went with it. "I want freedom for the Amazons, Varia – as much as you do. And if it comes to that, I will fight. I just need to know that I ... that we're doing the right thing." Even to her, it sounded weak.   
  
"Gabrielle..." The softness of Varia's voice startled her; only then did she realise how quiet the Amazon had grown.   
  
"Yes?"   
  
Varia dropped her eyes momentarily – then she looked back at Gabrielle, her brow creased, tense with a new resolve. "There's something you should know about this war." She looked almost guilty. "It's ... about Ares."   
  
  
  
  
  


Our Own Flesh And Blood

  
  


_Two hands, lowered ever so lightly  
  
Over my children's heads!  
  
Two were given to me – precious gifts,  
  
One for each hand.   
  
But with both of them clutching fiercely,  
  
Tight as I could only grasp,  
  
The eldest I snatched from the darkness,  
  
The youngest I could not save. _  
  
Marina Tzvetayeva, "Two Hands"

  
  
  
  
Livia walked out of the prison tent without a backward glance, into the fresh night air, away from Semra. Her own tent was just visible as an irregular shape in the darker distance of the camp-road, surrounded by tall fluttering standards. She headed towards it, her head raised slightly, her fists clenched on the sides of her cloak, scrunching the fabric. No eyes followed her this time; the camp was asleep. Every thump of boot on stone made her stomach heave, threatening to force it into her dry mouth, and her head rang like a shuddering bell. She felt drunk, but could not recall having had a single sip of wine. Maybe that was the problem. She reached for the wineskin at her belt, then changed her mind, resolving to have a proper drink the moment she was back in her own tent, well away from Semra's wild eyes and wilder stories. The woman was a liar, a traitor – nothing new there, she'd known it all along!   
  
Still. There was one thing that Semra had not lied about, just one, and Livia did not know why she had not seen it for herself. She should have guessed a long time ago; the moment Ares had pulled away from her touch, his eyes riveted to the woman coming to him through the bacchanalia smoke.   
  
Livia, Champion of Rome, was the daughter of the God of War.   
  
Ares was her father.   
  
"So now you know."   
  
Livia whirled about and found herself facing him. Ares' head was tilted with unbearable smugness, regarding her like a pet. The faint blue aura around him faded into the night. Livia wished she could draw her sword and finish him.   
  
"I told you you were mine." He tried to raise his hand to her cheek. Livia slammed it away, her other fist landing a hard punch into his gut, the force numbing her knuckles.   
  
"Whoa!" Ares rocked back half a step but recovered at once, catching her hands. "Down, girl. I'm just here to offer a little moral support."   
  
Livia tore her hands free. "Take your moral support to Semra, Dad. She's going to need it."   
  
"So she didn't tell you."   
  
Livia eased back reluctantly, regarding him with angry suspicion. "Tell me what?"   
  
"Who she is."   
  
The earth felt queasy under Livia's feet, like the deck of a badly laden ship. She opened her mouth on a question, then shook her head in annoyance. "She says she's my mother."   
  
Ares leaned back and looked into her eyes. His own were hidden by the night. "And you believe her?"   
  
Livia snorted, "Of course not! But if you're really—"   
  
"You should. Because she is."   
  
She stared at him incredulously.   
  
Ares spread his hands in a gesture of sincerity. "I thought you'd have it figured out by now. You know," his lips curved slightly without becoming a smile, "You have her eyes."   
  
Livia's eyes closed involuntarily. Then she saw it. The bacchanalia again. Semra's blue eyes over the veil, the smoke, her hand moving... Her hand. There had been a weapon, a curved blade. Livia followed the memory. Semra's hand had pressed against the metal and a trickle of blood had run along its edge to drip off it. Ruby droplets, rolling off oiled steel.   
  
"The chakram," Livia whispered numbly, and opened her eyes. Ares was watching her inscrutably, in the darkness. Livia felt her skin turn to gooseflesh, the hairs standing up. "At the bacchanalia. I saw it in Semra's hands. Xena's legendary weapon."   
  
Ares nodded slightly. "Yeah. Xena's weapon."   
  
Livia felt she'd lost the capacity for surprise. "You're saying that Semra is ... Xena. Your Warrior Princess. The one who died over twenty years ago." She thought Ares flinched, but it was hard to be sure in the dark.   
  
"No," he said, "the one who found a way to cheat death for a while, and forgot to let me in on the joke. Now she's back, not a day older, and," he paused, his eyes regaining their keenness, "she wants her little girl back."   
  
Livia shook her head in disbelief. "Me?"   
  
"That's right. You." There was sympathy in the line of his mouth. "You've heard the stories, Livia. You know what Xena did to her son. She took him away from the battlefield and gave him to the Centaurs to raise..."   
  
"...So that he, at least, could know peace." Livia completed the old story. Unexpectedly, she felt the stirrings of life inside her, a warmth. "She came back for me," she said wonderingly. "They told me my mother was dead..."   
  
"She came back to destroy you!" Ares' voice cracked the air, breaking the illusion of peace.   
  
Livia tried to turn away, but Ares took hold of her shoulders. "Think about it. If Xena didn't want her son in battles, do you think she would want you here? Fighting for Rome?"   
  
Livia scowled, but she had to concede his point: "Xena hated Rome. She destroyed Caesar and Pompey when they went up against the Amazons."   
  
"Exactly." Ares released her finally. Her upper arms felt damp where his palms had been – but he couldn't be sweating, surely? Livia tried to make out the expression on his face: relief and something else, something harder. "She'll destroy you, too. Xena will take away your Empire, your dreams, everything you've worked for. She'll even take your name."   
  
Livia forgot her uncertainty. If even half of this was true... Her eyes flashed darkly. "I won't let her."   
  
"That's my girl!" Ares stood back in approval. "Xena can't accept it, but her days are long gone. The world awaits its new ruler. You. Win this war, Livia, and there will be nothing in your way. Or, you could do what Xena wants you to do, and leave it all to her Amazon friend. Gabrielle."   
  
"The storyteller?!" Livia gaped in amazement. Connections slid into place, convincing her. "You're telling me that Jana is Gabrielle? Xena's peace-loving sidekick?" She began to laugh, feeling almost herself again. "Gabrielle!"   
  
"Hey, hey, hey," Ares raised a hand to stop her laughter, "You don't want to underestimate her. Don't forget that she hung around Xena for years, and she's the one who brought that Amazon army to your doorstep."   
  
Livia grinned. "And I'm grateful. She's saved me months of slogging through swamps, looking for her little tribes!"   
  
For some reason, Ares did not laugh with her. "I'm warning you, Livia. Don't underestimate Xena, or her sidekick. Xena has already managed to shake the confidence of your men—"   
  
Livia scowled, "Thanks to you! I would never have fallen for her lies if you hadn't backed her up! Why did you help her?"   
  
"I knew you could beat her." Ares shifted uncomfortably   
  
"But that's not why you helped her." Livia's mouth thinned in thought, then curved into a wicked smile. "It was because of Fortuna, wasn't it? You never liked that Rome followed me because of their false goddess, so you helped Xena steal Fortuna away from me. Well, don't worry. I don't mind. I don't need Fortuna anymore, now that I know that my father is the God of War."   
  
"You got me there," Ares said with a short laugh. "It was all about Fortuna."   
  
"Tomorrow, Ares. When I'm addressing the troops, I want you at my side. They won't doubt me again."   
  
Ares' eyes softened very slightly at her defiant stare. "I'm looking forward to this battle, Livia. With you leading Rome's armies, it will be – magnificent."   
  
"Oh, it will be." Livia felt his words fill her with delicious power that tingled through her body, to the tips of her trembling fingers. She snatched the wineskin from her belt and took a long draught, then grinned back at Ares. "But what if I happen to kill Sem... Xena? The heat of battle, you know... You've been protecting her ever since the start of this campaign. I hope you wouldn't ruin it all for me by flying to her rescue."   
  
The sarcasm was rather spoiled by the splatter of wine when Ares grabbed the wineskin from her hand.   
  
"Go easy on that stuff, would you? Makes you lose your focus." He looked at the leather bag in distaste before tossing it aside; it bled cheap red wine over the moonlit dirt of the road. Before Livia could vocalise her annoyance, Ares put his hands over her shoulders, and looked into her eyes. "Xena doesn't matter. Reclaim your destiny, Livia. Win Rome."   
  
He was gone before she could reply.   
  
Livia looked at her wineskin in the dust, blinking away the brightness of aether. Xena. Her mother was Xena. Semra the traitor was Xena. Her mother... Was it really possible, or was it just one of Ares' tricks? Her father... She brushed aside the cobwebs of confusion. One thing at a time. Ares was right; she was losing her focus. This war was more important now than ever before. It would win her the Empire, and the world. Once she had it, all these peculiar longings would go away. The Champion of Rome needed no mother. And no father, either.   
  
Livia was barely fifty paces from her tent when she heard the voice of one of Semra's guards behind her. "General!"   
  
She turned slowly and glared at the glistening face of the Picentine, his thick chin and nose distorted by the leaping shadows from the torch in his hand. "What is it, Lepidus?"   
  
"It's the Amazon." He nodded back the way he had come. "Says she has something that belongs to you."   
  
Livia yawned conspicuously. "Tell her to keep whatever it is. A gift for her services."   
  
Lepidus looked startled. "But, General, it's no use to her! It's – she says it..." He shrugged. "She says it's your Amazon right of caste. She says you're meant to be their queen."   
  
Livia froze mid-yawn, then carefully lowered her hand. "Their queen."   
  
"That's what she says."   
  
"Really." Without warning, Livia snatched the torch from the guard's hand; the man gave a short cry of surprise and flinched back as though afraid that she would burn him. She shoved past and headed back to the distant shadow of the prison tent.   
  


* * *

  
  
"So it was Ares' war all along. He wanted you to fight Livia?"   
  
Varia tugged at her gauntlet in discomfort, scanning the command tent as though in search of something to draw her eyes from Gabrielle's. The leather walls of were mostly in shadow, tasselled hangings forming patterns of grey on grey. The only brightly lit spot was the map-table with its lamp; Gabrielle could feel its light at her back, like a warning.   
  
"Ares never told me about Livia, just Rome," Varia said at last. "I thought he was right; that this war would be good for us, make us strong. Like in the old days. Marga didn't like the idea, but I thought if I could only convince the Council that there was a threat..." she trailed off.   
  
"They would make you queen in Marga's place," Gabrielle completed for her.   
  
Varia nodded miserably, "Yeah. But there was a price. Ares wanted me to get ambrosia for him, the stuff we kept for sacrifices."   
  
Gabrielle's eyes widened. "You didn't..."   
  
"I did." Varia gave a short, self-mocking laugh. "It didn't seem like a big deal, if I could have his support."   
  
Gabrielle silenced the self-righteous little whisper in her mind. Who was she to criticise Varia's theft, after she herself had stolen the right of caste pendant from Marcus? "Didn't you wonder why a god needed ambrosia?"   
  
"Sure. I even thought about keeping it for myself, but then Ares was there. He took it, and just... disappeared. I never saw him again." Fear danced in Varia's eyes. "Do you think he gave it to Livia? What if she's immortal?"   
  
"She's not." Gabrielle knew her reply came too hastily, unconvincingly. She tried to smile, "If Livia was immortal, we wouldn't still be here." The smile died. "He must've wanted it for Xena – but she'd never take it."   
  
She saw the relief plain in Varia's face, and wished she could share it. Instead, she shook her head. "Livia may be mortal, but she's still ..." She nearly said 'the daughter of the God of War', but caught herself just in time, "Still a formidable opponent."   
  
"She must be," Varia agreed thoughtfully, "if even Xena could do nothing about her in all this time."   
  
Gabrielle discovered she didn't want to talk about it anymore. She needed to think. "Varia," she said as calmly as she could, "Thank you for telling me. It was brave of you."   
  
Varia shrugged a little. "It was stupid of me. I wasn't ready to lead us against Rome, I know that now." She looked at Gabrielle with unexpected seriousness. "Thank you." Then she turned around and strode out of the tent. The strings of beads at the entrance clinked and swayed after her. For a few moments Gabrielle stood there, watching them. Then, when she was sure that Varia was gone, she blew out the lamp, plunging the tent into darkness, and went outside.   
  
One of the five corners of the command tent was supported by the trunk of a smooth-barked tree, the tallest in the camp. Gabrielle looked up into its rustling crown, black leaves hiding and revealing the moon. It was as close to an escape as she could hope for. She set her hands on the lowest branch, swung her body back and forth to gain momentum then vaulted up, landing hard on both feet with a small grunt. The branch swayed under her. She climbed up a little way up and sat on the next branch, letting her legs swing free. She'd been right: up here, there was a slight breeze, and the claustrophobia of the tent gave way before the expanse of the night. Gabrielle wrapped her arm around the trunk and leaned her cheek against the cool bark.   
  
For a little while she just sat there, staring into the distance beyond the whispering foliage, trying to gather her thoughts into some semblance of order. The ground below sloped down through the Amazon camp, jutted up sharply into the wall of fortifications then continued into the marshland that was all that lay between her Amazons and Rome – and between her and Xena. Gabrielle sighed. From this high vantage point the valley looked serene, the swamps visible only as a thin layer of mist that swirled white under the moonlight, as though stirred with a giant's unseen hand. Off to one side, the mist disappeared, and the blackness of the bare ground there merged with the sky.   
  
Lately, everything had seemed much like that black ground; surrounded by ever-shifting mist that revealed some truth only to conceal it again in the next moment, leaving behind confusion and a heavy, numbing isolation. Gabrielle tried to picture Xena right now, in that frightening Roman uniform, perhaps looking over this same mist from the other side, wondering why her best friend had hurt her again. Why she had brought the Amazons west instead of east. Why she had cut short the time Xena had to bond with Livia and reach her daughter inside that hardened Roman shell.   
  
Why she had chosen the Amazons over Eve.   
  
Only none of this had been her choice, Gabrielle thought desperately. If Varia was telling the truth about having been Ares' champion – and why would she confess to treason she didn't commit? – then it had been Ares' doing: everything, from the time the Amazons had united into a nation, long before she and Xena had even awakened in that cave. Gabrielle felt her cheek grow hot against the tree. Even her own failure to convince the Amazons to retreat into the forests, that was Ares' fault, too!   
  
He had known that her peacemaking attempt would be doomed from the start, that the Amazon nation would want war. That must have been why he dumped Varia so unceremoniously: he had meant to turn Xena's deal to his own advantage, using Gabrielle as a pawn, forcing to fight for the Amazons while he had Xena to himself.   
  
Damn him! Gabrielle thought viciously. Damn him for separating her from Xena, for scheming to pit his own daughter against the Amazons, for trying to make Xena immortal and take her away while Gabrielle would be forced to fight war after bloody war for the Amazon nation...   
  
Except that it didn't make sense.   
  
Gabrielle sat up abruptly, bracing her knees on the branch, suddenly dizzy with a vertigo that had nothing to do with the precarious height of her perch. She counted back in frantic disbelief: Ares had asked for the Amazons' ambrosia at dawn after the last full moon... Before Xena had discovered Livia's plans for the Amazons! And thus, before she had asked for his help.   
  
Unbelievable. Ares had actually, actually, abandoned this war – or at least one side of it, at least for a while. Just to get a piece of ambrosia for Xena.   
  
Gabrielle lifted her hands slowly and rubbed at the imprints of bark on her palms. The idea that Ares could abandon a war, any war, let alone one of this magnitude, seemed even crazier than her previous certainty that he had trapped her into leading it. Only crazy as it was, she believed it. She wished suddenly that she didn't; it would have been easier to think that Gabrielle-the-Amazon-Queen had been a helpless puppet in another of Ares' games. But that would have been like blaming Xena for the darkness that had taken over her own soul after Hope's birth, and the hurt and betrayals that followed. She had let Xena take the blame then, and she could let Ares take the blame now. It would be so easy. After all, he was the God of War; he'd probably be flattered. Only this wasn't about Ares. It was about her, and this time, she would not shy away from the truth. The God of War may not have lifted a finger to avert this conflict, but it hadn't been Ares who had sent the Amazons against his daughter and Xena. It had been Gabrielle of Potadeia.   
  
It was a relief to admit it. Gabrielle managed a sad half-smile at herself. She had made bad decisions perhaps, but at least they had been hers. And if she could get herself into this mess, she could get herself out of it.   
  
There had been a little girl in Potadeia who believed in the goodness inside all people, even ones with a knife to your throat. Of course, that had been before she'd had a knife to her throat... But it was that little girl who had stopped a war once, when the Horde had terrorised Athens. Tending to a prisoner, she'd realised that the barbarian warriors dying on the battlefield were calling for water, and she'd crawled through the mud and bodies and blood to give a drink to the wounded and dying. The Horde had taken that for a truce. Understanding the other side, Xena had said then. That was how little Gabrielle had ended the war: she had talked to the other side. It was time the Amazon Queen took a few lessons from that village girl.   
  
For the first time since she had heard the scouts report sighting the Roman forces, Gabrielle felt some sense of control returning. It wasn't too late. She just had to talk to the other side, to Xena, to Livia, to Rome. And if Ares had been willing to forgo this war before...   
  
Gabrielle leapt to her feet, balancing easily on the branch, and called, "Ares!"   
  
Dimly, she was aware of how comfortable she had become with this, with climbing trees and wearing armour. She pushed that worrying thought aside and repeated, "Ares, I need to ask you something." When no reply came, she softened her tone. "Please."   
  
She strained her awareness, listening with her entire body to the night, to the small sounds of insects in the grass below, to the whisperings of the leaves around her. She wasn't even sure what she was listening for. Xena did this somehow, but Gabrielle had no idea what would alert her to Ares' presence. It didn't matter, she decided. She didn't have to see him. She just hoped he was listening.   
  
"Ares," she said softly, "I know about Varia. And the Amazon nation. And I know you were going to make the Amazons fight Rome, before you gave up the idea. For Xena."   
  
"Oh, really."   
  
Gabrielle was ready for him. She turned slowly, keeping a tight rein on her sudden hopefulness, trying to look calm and unruffled. Ares stood on the tapering end of the same branch a couple of paces away; it sprang and bent slightly under his weight. He looked ... strange. Not the looming dark god with burning eyes who had taunted her earlier – more like a man tormented by visions, enraged because he would not show his fear. Gabrielle caught the movement as he schooled his face into an expression of bored scepticism.   
  
"Perhaps you haven't heard: I don't make a habit of giving up without a fight." He motioned in the direction of the Roman camp. "And that's where you come in. I think I'll enjoy this battle."   
  
"I think not."   
  
Ares actually stared at her. Gabrielle felt her spirits rise a little more. He didn't look particularly godly or frightening right now, stunned as he was at her audacity. Maybe that was how Xena saw him: not as the God of War, but just as a man with exasperating habits and a bad job, who could be badgered into having some decency. And there was a bit of decency inside him, if only a very little. At least he had told her about Xena, that she was all right 'for now'.... Whatever 'for now' meant.   
  
Gabrielle swallowed a little. "I wanted to, uh... thank you. For what you did earlier. For telling me about Xena." She paused, steeling herself. "Why did you?"   
  
Ares gave her a withering look, but Gabrielle thought she caught a glimpse of discomfort in it. "I told you nothing. And I intend to keep it that way, so if that's all you were going to ask—" He stepped back as if to disappear.   
  
"Not all," Gabrielle interrupted, and felt quite pleased with herself. She could do this. "Ares, about this war..."   
  
"It's all yours, blondie," he scowled. "It's a bit too late to back out."   
  
Gabrielle felt herself getting angry. "Too late for whom? For Xena, for your daughter? Ares, if you let this happen, it will be too late. For all of you."   
  
Ares' mouth thinned in exasperation. "Save the dramatics, Gabrielle. You have an army of fifty thousand waiting for your orders. Most warriors in your shoes would be calling the God of War for advice right about now. Unless you're one of them, I suggest you stop wasting my time."   
  
Gabrielle stilled her tongue with an effort, saying nothing, just looking up at Ares' face in the night.   
  
"What?" he barked, and Gabrielle realised with a jolt that she was getting to him. Another surge of hopefulness sent her breath aflutter. Perhaps there was a chance...   
  
"You're a coward," she said with icy composure. She wondered where it had come from, but it was just a passing curiosity, she felt borne away by her conviction. "You're afraid of me."   
  
Ares gave an incredulous laugh. "Please tell me you're joking."   
  
"You are. You're so scared of the truth, you can't even meet my eyes." Ares jerked his eyes to hers deliberately, but Gabrielle did not pause. "But I know, Ares. You were going to give up this war. You even brought me here, knowing I would try to stop it. Only the war happened anyway and you didn't have the guts to tell Xena – because then you would've had to tell her about Varia, too, about your plan to pit the Amazons and Livia against each other. Xena would've blamed you, and she was already furious with you because of Eve—"   
  
"First I'm scared of the 'truth', now it's Xena?"   
  
"Fine then." Gabrielle narrowed her eyes at him; Ares looked like he'd been going to cross his arms, then decided against it, meeting her stare. "So tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you weren't scared. Tell me you gave Xena my message."   
  
He did cross his arms. Like a defiant child, Gabrielle thought, and the ridiculousness of that image nearly made her laugh; next to him, she was the one who should have felt like a child. She waited. When he continued to say nothing, she sighed.   
  
"Ares... You don't have to do this. You were going to stop this war once before. So what's changed? Xena has seen the Amazons now; she must know about the tribes uniting anyway. Maybe she is furious with you, but look – this is your chance." She gave Ares a tense smile, but his face remained impassive in the dappled shadows of the tree. "Take me to her. I'll tell Xena the truth; she'll know this wasn't your doing. Come on." She hesitated a moment, then stretched out her arm and touched his hand. His skin was surprisingly warm. "Please. Let me talk to her."   
  
Ares gripped her hand painfully and flung it aside. "Poor girl."   
  
His voice dropped so deep it was almost soundless, like a bass string, vibrating with power. Gabrielle's words snagged in her throat at the rage that came into his face. All her courage fled; she backed into the tree trunk, wondering it this was how it would end, if he would kill her here.   
  
"You presume to know why a god does something? Let me enlighten you, Gabrielle." He took a step forward on the branch. "I made this war. I twisted your miserable little life and all the little maggots around you, and Livia, and Xena – because I'm the God of War, and I will not be dictated to by a mortal! And now, you're going to fight, and you're going to give me the greatest war in centuries." His voice rose abruptly, "I can feel it! The pulse of battle in my veins, the blood, the glory, the death... Ohh, what a blast!"   
  
Gabrielle had backed hard against the tree, her nails digging into the bark behind her, her heart racing with terror. Ares leaned in to her and smiled, horribly. "You are nothing, Gabrielle. You can't change a thing; not you, not any of you!" His eyes lifted to the lacing of black sky in the treetop and in that moment Gabrielle wondered if he had lost his mind; then his gaze returned to her, wide and dark, "Get it? Nothing! There is only this war, and thousands of other wars for centuries, for millennia, forever! You think you can stop it? You can't stop it, Gabrielle. Not you, not Livia, not even Xena!" There was white in the corners of his mouth.   
  
"I don't believe that!" Gabrielle heard her own voice, and could not believe she had spoken. Apparently neither could Ares, because he froze where he stood.   
  
"You're lying!" Gabrielle repeated, to her own mounting horror. "You didn't make this war. But you'd like to believe it, wouldn't you – that you can manipulate us all like little pieces in your games, that we're just beetles you can torment for your sport. Xena said that once, remember?"   
  
There was no movement in Ares' face, but Gabrielle stood straighter, peeling away from the tree. "I didn't understand her then, but I did later. You know when, Ares? When I saw people, real living people, herded like cattle to Dahak's holy ground to drench it in their blood. You were his lackey then, his little slave."   
  
The muscles tensed in Ares' jaw and Gabrielle knew she had hit her mark. She lowered her voice almost to a whisper. "Felt good, didn't it, God of War? To have your will taken from you, to be jerked about to do Dahak's bidding, like a puppet or a leashed dog! So why don't you keep going. Sacrifice the Amazons, Romans, Eve, Xena... Go on. Maybe it'll feel just as good. Maybe it will be worth it." She felt the power fall from her words, as though she had run a very long way. Quietly, she finished, "Maybe you can be Dahak."   
  
And then she turned away, because her heart was sick and she wanted to cry and she didn't want Ares to see it. The bark was smooth and cold against her burning cheek. There was a flash of blue, but Gabrielle barely noticed it, caught in her own memories. The agony of Hope's birth, and the greater agony of her life, of knowing that something ugly and powerful beyond reason was using her, and she was unable to stop it.   
  
She felt suddenly stupid, and very young. A pointless gesture, screaming at a god. Like cursing the wind. She of all people should have remembered that.   
  
Gabrielle dried her tears with a sharp, angry motion. Then carefully, she climbed down again.   
  


* * *

  
  
Ares pressed his back into a silver shield on a wall. The icy metal chilled his skin even through the thick leather of his vest. The Halls of War seemed to ring and shudder with noise, grating echoes that bounced endlessly from one wall to the next, from sword to shield, like a hundred bards all chattering wildly at him over the top of each other. Maybe it will be worth it... Maybe you can be Dahak. Like the rustle of leaves in the dark. Dahak-Dahak-Dahak...   
  
"Shut up!" Ares yelled at them, turning around furiously. "SHUT UP!"   
  
The echoed fled, but he could still feel them, scrabbling under the surface of his mind. He paused for breath, his chest rising and falling quickly. He didn't have to put up with this. He didn't even know why he'd talked to the blonde, why he'd let her say all those things. He should never have allowed Varia to live, should have known that she'd spill the beans eventually. He didn't know how Gabrielle had figured out that he'd meant to withdraw from this war earlier, didn't care. It didn't matter. Not now that he was back in business, not now that Xena was nothing to him. Xena thought he'd set up this whole war, and maybe he had! Who was the blonde to question him? Nothing, Ares reminded himself. They were all nothing. And he was the God of War.   
  
Resolutely, he walked to the back of the hall, to the tiered dais that held his throne. One foot over the first step, he paused in sudden distaste. This hall. It had been years, he'd all but forgotten, but the bard's wild ranting had brought back memories. Hope's cocoon, its slimy translucent bulk wedged disgustingly into his throne like it belonged there; Dahak's voice scalding his mind with demands... Felt good, didn't it, God of War? To have your will taken from you, to be jerked about to do Dahak's bidding, like a puppet or a leashed dog!.. And Hope's insistent hands snaking cold and intimate around his body, her touch freezing him even as Dahak's taunts burned him inside, humiliating him.   
  
Trapped. That was what he'd felt then, and the shame was still hot even after all this time. He had been manipulated, a pawn in a game completely beyond his control. Was this how mortals felt?   
  
Ares refused the memories. He mounted the high dais steps with all the ease he could summon, seating himself in the supple leather of his throne. He leaned back. The echoes ceased; black marble columns stood tall and silent around the hall, just as they always had. He was overreacting. Dahak was gone and his evil brat was dead, and none of it had anything to do with him. It was all in the past. He was just about to congratulate himself for regaining control, when the thought returned defiantly, as though Gabrielle's raving accusations had found a new home in his mind. Maybe you can be Dahak.   
  
It couldn't be true. He wasn't anything like Dahak! Dahak had been something unnatural, not even a deity but a thing.   
  
And that thing had found the deepest crevices of his mind and taunted him with weaknesses he'd never suspected he had. Ares shifted nervously in his seat. He couldn't let it get to him; it was Xena's own fault if she wouldn't take his help! He was moving on to better things, claiming his daughter, doing his job – that's right, it was his job. If Xena wanted to be beaten to a pulp in a filthy Roman tent, then it was her own doing, she couldn't blame him for it...   
  
You're a coward, insisted a wormy little thought that sounded suspiciously like Gabrielle. Then his own voice joined in, mocking him. You are nothing, Ares.   
  


* * *

  
  
Xena crouched on the dirt floor, her body shivering thinly under the blanket they'd finally thrown her. She guessed it was fever. It wasn't cold really, except where the spreading numbness from the lash-cuts on her back was eating into muscle. The broken skin felt infected, hot and stretched too tight. Her teeth were chattering, making small noises in the stinking darkness. She knew she should move, restore some feeling to her legs, but the blood-sodden ropes at her ankles and wrists had stiffened and movement made them chafe raw skin. She wanted water.   
  
She wondered how long it had been since Livia had come into the tent, clutching the Amazon pendant she had sent with the guard. A last resort, that. But there had been no choice, not anymore. So Xena had summoned all the strength left in her voice and told the guard impatiently where to look for it, and that his general would not be happy if he did not deliver the pendant at once. There was a twisted kind of relief in seeing the man obey his prisoner's order. Her confidence had been a bluff, a commander's trick, something she had learned from Caesar. Perhaps it was important, that she was recognising Caesar's footprints inside her now. More likely it was just thirst clouding her mind.   
  
She had watched the crack of moonlight in the doorflap after that, counting anxious minutes until she could see her daughter again, until she could have another chance to tell her everything. Everything, this time. No Semra, not anymore. Finally the doorway had opened to a blinding hot glare, letting in Livia, fully armed, carrying a torch. Xena's heart gave a jolt. Curiosity had brought her daughter back when nothing else could. Livia stabbed the torch into the ground, so that the room writhed orange on black and filled immediately with the reek of hot tar. Xena coughed. A moment later Livia was swinging the right of caste pendant before her face.   
  
"So now I'm an Amazon queen." The derision in her tone could not entirely mask the spark of curiosity.   
  
"Not yet." Xena looked up past the pendant, trying to see her daughter's eyes, but could not tell what the heavy kohl hid inside them.   
  
"Meaning what?"   
  
"It's a long story."   
  
"You told Lepidus that this thing," Livia tossed the pendant into the air, catching it deftly in her palm, "can make me an Amazon queen. I'm not interested in stories. A simple answer will do."   
  
"The simplest answer is the long story."   
  
Xena paused, her head tilted up awkwardly. That was when she noticed that something had changed in Livia's stance since she'd stormed outside earlier. There was a new confidence to her bearing, an almost jovial air. As though she'd already won. Xena understood then, wordlessly. She was too late. Ares had spoken to their daughter.   
  
"What did he tell you?" she asked softly.   
  
"Everything you didn't. Your name. Gabrielle's."   
  
That last came as a swift kick, hard. Xena turned her head to hide the pain. "I see."   
  
"The pendant?" Livia's slender fingers were toying with it possessively.   
  
"Sit down," Xena said, not to Livia but to her daughter. "I'll tell you the rest. I promise." Then she stopped trying to find her eyes, and added, "It involves Marcus."   
  
Livia's hand clenched on the pendant.   
  
The torch hissed and spluttered, and for a long time there were no other sounds. The fire glinted off the patterns of bronze on Livia's armour, the rising hot air billowing her scarlet cloak. Then Livia sat.   
  
"All right." A faint odour of wine rode over the heavy stench of tar from the torch. She wrapped her cloak about herself. "I want to know."   
  
Xena shifted painfully into a half-turn to face her daughter beside her. "I'm going to tell you the truth," she warned. "Everything."   
  
Livia nodded. "I want to know." She sat back, her hands dropping into her lap, and Xena thought back to a bedroom in Dyrrachium. This time, she would not hold back.   
  
The words came haltingly at first, like the splitting of a dam, a mere trickle then faster and surer, a flood. She started with her own name, because she wanted to say it to her daughter. She told her about Gabrielle, how she'd once risked her life trying to save an Amazon princess and how the woman had then given Gabrielle her own right of caste – the same one that now rested in the palm of Livia's hand. She told her daughter about her birth, the joy she'd felt then, and about her initiation into Gabrielle's tribe. And finally, she told her about the land of Ch'in, about the tyrant whose defeat had come at a devastating price, stealing so many years of their lives, and this child whose life meant more to Xena than her own.   
  
"You were wearing this pendant when Marcus found you on the beach," Xena finished. "He told Gabrielle that he'd meant to return it to you."   
  
"Then I'm an Amazon." There was no feeling in Livia's voice. Xena understood that.   
  
"Yes. With this, you can talk to their council as one of them. Negotiate the treaty you wanted. You can do it, without spilling blood. You can win this, Eve."   
  
"Livia," her daughter said roughly, and Xena was shocked by dark raw hurt in the eyes that met her own. "And you're right. I can win. I will."   
  
Xena's heart gave a dull thud. "If you go to war, the only one who wins will be Ares. There is a better way, you're holding it in your hand! Come on. You're too smart to let it go."   
  
Slowly, Livia shook her head, her eyes always on Xena's. Then she shouted over her shoulder – "Guard!"   
  
Lepidus was inside in an instant, drawing his dagger. Xena tried to get up, but Livia pushed her back down with the heel of one hand and swung herself to her feet. She pulled the torch from the ground and flicked her head at Lepidus. "See that she gets a blanket. And something to eat."   
  
"Yes, General." He remained where he was. "Is that all?"   
  
"No."   
  
Xena watched her daughter stand still with the heavy hot torch, her face all in shadow. Livia was weighing up some decision, Xena could see it in the odd slowness of her movements as she turned back to the guard, in the flicker of the torch flame. Livia threw the edge of her cloak over her shoulder smoothly, but Xena caught the quick tremor of her hand.   
  
"Send for Rufus immediately. Tell him the scouts have a message for the Amazons. And tell him..."   
  
Xena waited, so tense she had stopped breathing.   
  
"Tell him, no weapons," Livia said at last. "I want a parley."   
  
Relief flooded Xena's senses. The torchlight turned to a watery gold curtain in front of her eyes, it was difficult to see out. She blinked, several times, but by then her daughter had gone from the tent, and she was alone again. She could not help a smile, through the tears, through the pains in her body. A parley. Her daughter had gone to talk to the Amazons. Xena knew well what courage it took to stand before an army ready for battle and talk peace instead. She hoped her daughter would know it, too.   
  
That had been many hours ago. At least it seemed that way. It was difficult to tell how deep the night was now, except that occasionally, Xena thought she could hear the chirrup of a bird somewhere outside, and knew that dawn was not far away. She huddled into the blanket, cursing her body for burning with fever, for shaking, for letting her down. She was so close. So very close. She didn't dare even to think about what was going on outside now, about the scouts who would have reached the Amazons, about Gabrielle... It was too fragile, it could all fall apart at the slightest touch of her mind.   
  
"Traitor. You awake?"   
  
Xena raised her head. The burly guard, Lepidus, stood at the doorway. He had drawn his sword and was holding it defensively, Xena noticed with fever-bright amusement. She wondered if he thought she could run in this state, or if the weapon was meant to make him more threatening. Then she noticed the bucket in his other hand. She moved her swollen tongue with difficulty, slurring the words, "Better be... water."   
  
"Here." He set the bucket at her feet. It sloshed over her bare knees, making her shudder, and soaked into the ground. "Damn lucky, you are. General says she needs you alive."   
  
"Then... I'm luckier than most of you." Xena wondered how much he knew. "At least I won't be... fighting Amazons."   
  
Lepidus gave her a bitter look. "A real smart one, aren't you. But you picked the wrong man to try your wiles on, 'cause I know what you're doing, Semra. You won't be finding out the General's plans, not from me."   
  
Xena shrugged, trying to hide the disappointment she felt. She hoped desperately that she would not succumb to the fever for a while longer, long enough to know that everything would be all right, that Gabrielle was safe, and Eve had her treaty...   
  
"You going to drink or not?" He gave the bucket a light tap with the toe of his boot, just hard enough to spill some more into Xena's lap. Her parched throat closed at the waste of water.   
  
"Soon as you untie my hands." She moved her shoulders, knowing it was hopeless. Lepidus snorted.   
  
"Sure, and show you the way out. Drink like that." Then he turned and walked outside, resealing the doorway behind him.   
  
Xena groaned, kneeing her way closer to the bucket, ignoring the now-wet earth muddying her legs, the tremors racking her body. She dropped her face into the cool water, drinking thirstily like an animal, ignoring everything but the blessed coolness running over her lips, down her throat, over her hot skin. She closed her eyes, letting her face float in the water for a while, not breathing, not thinking. Then she sat back, gasping hard. Her hair ran wet down her face like seagrass. She thought she could smell the sea, salt air, the peculiar dampness inside a spiral seashell. Gabrielle had given her a shell like that once, and told her to listen. The sea rushed inside it, Xena had heard it then. She could hear it now, pounding in her ears. She shouldn't have chilled her fever like that, all at once. Stupid thing to do, she thought through the rush of waves on the shore. Now she wouldn't be able to stay awake...   
  
And then she was back in the sea, lying on her back as the waves melted in the sand, and Gabrielle was there beside her. She knew they had just escaped from Illusia and everything was going to be okay now, and they laughed and laughed.   
  
  
  
  
  


It's What I Do

  
  


_But over the tower the night raised its flag,  
  
Its own true colour, its banner of black;  
  
Three armies have gathered for carnage at night,  
  
Three sources of nightmares, three ghoulish dreams,  
  
Three sources of three black rivers of Hell,  
  
What use against them was only one man?  
  
Let's gather in the place where his house had stood,  
  
Where the grass grows high over coals of wood  
  
And we'll bury our joy in those blackened old coals  
  
In the place where he perished – the last man on Earth._   
  
Nautilus Pompilius, "The Last Man on Earth"

  
  
  
  
"Gabrielle! Gabrielle, wake up!"   
  
"Stop shaking me..." Gabrielle buried her face deeper in her arms, trying to pull her mind back into sleep, back into comfortable darkness. She had been dreaming; warm, peaceful dreams where she was with Xena, and the forest smelled like summer around them, and the trees nodded thoughtfully to her words. She had been telling a story, and Xena had listened with that look of fond amusement she used to have, before... All this. The dreams shifted now, ignoring Gabrielle's resistance, forcing her back to the surface of awareness.   
  
"I'm awake," she said, and opened her eyes. Her head hurt. She must have fallen asleep at her map-table when she returned after the confrontation with Ares; a glance at the pale light between the open doorflaps told her it was dawn, the start of a cloudy, soggy day. Shivers of wind passed over the tent, making the leather creak. Gabrielle sat up, every muscle in her body cramping indignantly. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. "Varia?"   
  
Varia took her hand from her shoulder. She looked dishevelled, as though she too had been roused from sleep without warning. Her hair was swept back into a loose plait, her eyes heavy with dark circles. She was holding a piece of parchment with a death grip.   
  
"A message from the Romans," she said tersely. "With Livia's seal."   
  
Gabrielle was awake at once, dreams forgotten. She snatched the parchment, fumbling with the string that tied it.   
  
"When did it come?" she asked – then looked up with a frown. "It's broken. The seal." The wax clinked apart into two halves in her hand.   
  
Varia looked unhappy, but defiant. "I read it. The messengers are still here, waiting for the answer." She prodded at the scroll in Gabrielle's palm, "Read it."   
  
Gabrielle unrolled the scroll and scanned the message, reading more and more slowly as its meaning sank in. Blood rushed to her face, pulsing in her temples like fear.   
  
She looked up at Varia, biting her lip. "Livia is asking for a parley. Maybe ... she wants peace." She was dismayed by the uncertainty in her own voice.   
  
"Yeah, right," Varia scoffed. "She came here with four legions looking for peace?"   
  
"It's possible she's changed her mind. She had Xena beside her all this time; Xena can be very persuasive. There may be more to Livia than anyone knows."   
  
Varia regarded her for a moment. "You don't believe it, do you? You say it, but you know she's lying. She's like us: she wants to fight! She doesn't want a treaty."   
  
Gabrielle flushed and looked away. "It doesn't matter what I believe. Right now we have to talk to those messengers."   
  
"I agree. We better find out what Livia is playing at."   
  
Gabrielle didn't trust herself to answer. Wasn't this exactly what she'd hoped for, a chance to talk to the other side? So why couldn't she be happier about it?   
  
She held up the message. "Have the others seen this? The council?"   
  
"They're with the Romans now. We better hurry."   
  
Gabrielle poured some water from a clay jug into her hand, splashed her face, then drank the rest in long gulps. It was lukewarm, but she felt a shudder in her hands anyway. She rose, picking up the amulet of beaten silver that distinguished her as a council member and slipping it over her head, then motioned for Varia to precede her. "Where are they?"   
  
"Central west watchtower."   
  
Varia was already at the door. Gabrielle hurried after her, and the two of them cut straight across the awakening camp, past rows of earth-covered coals from last night's cooking fires. Several women came out of their tents at the racket, halfway through arming themselves. Gabrielle caught their puzzled looks as she ran with Varia, faces turning to follow them. She was acutely aware that the commanders of an army should not be hurtling across the camp like children in a schoolyard, but even more acutely, she was aware of the message scroll in her hand. Had Xena seen it? Could it be true, that Livia knew of her Amazon heritage, that she wanted to talk? Had Xena succeeded? It seemed possible, and yet it was so hard to believe... Gabrielle squeezed the parchment tighter, as though it was Xena's hand. She stumbled, regained her footing, tried not to think of Xena at all. It would be all right. But before she could convince herself of that, they had reached the tower.   
  
The watchtower was an elevated walled platform, supported by thick crossbeams at its base that served also as the camp gate. To either side of it, the earthen camp-wall was banked to twice Gabrielle's height. Its digging had left a wide ditch outside to run the length of the wall, continuing past the gate; at the moment was spanned there by a makeshift wooden bridge, guarded by four Amazon warriors armed with spears.   
  
Another detachment of guards was arranged in a circle about fifty paces back from the gate, facing inwards with their spears crossed. The area around them had been cleared, forming something like a marching ground two hundred paces across, overlooked by archers in the watchtower above.   
  
"There," Varia pointed out to Gabrielle as they crossed the clearing and approached the Amazons gathered there. "Livia's messengers."   
  
Two guards moved their spears apart to let Gabrielle and Varia pass into the circle. The Romans stood in its centre. There were three of them, on foot, an absurdly small group. All three wore full armour and ostentatiously plumed helmets, but their scabbards were empty, and there were no daggers at their belts. Gabrielle recognised one of the Romans as Rufus, the young tribune who had quizzed her about Amazon warfare. She wondered if he recognised her in her Amazon attire. If he did, he gave no sign.   
  
Prothoë, Cyane and several other council members were already present; they stood around the Romans in a semicircle, each queen in her proper accustomed place. Gabrielle was surprised to see Marga among them, wearing the half-moon amulet of a former queen instead of the full circle that was now Gabrielle's. So she was calling in her right to speak at the council. Gabrielle nodded to her uneasily.   
  
There were two gaps in the semicircle. "Sisters," she greeted the others, taking her place. To her left, she saw Varia do the same.   
  
"What's going on, Gabrielle?" demanded Prothoë, sweeping aside all formalities. She tucked a red curl behind her ear impatiently and came forward. "Why does Livia have your right of caste?"   
  
"Because your own queen gave it to her; see!"   
  
All heads turned at the sound of Rufus' voice. There was no mistaking the leather pendant that hung from his fingers, dancing in the morning breeze. He thrust his hand higher into the air, "Here!"   
  
Gabrielle felt herself coiling, as if preparing for a jump.   
  
"So she stole it!" Varia broke in. She came forward to stand small and dark opposite Prothoë, and gave Gabrielle a tense smile of support. "It means nothing. That thing is a worthless trinket unless it's given with the proper rites, in the Amazon lands. All of you know that!"   
  
"That's true – if it was stolen."   
  
Marga's calm voice pre-empted Gabrielle's reply. Her dark, wide-set eyes measured Gabrielle. "That pendant was given to Xena's daughter when she stayed with our tribe, to receive your right of caste. You told us she was dead, Gabrielle."   
  
Her voice was accusation and question at the same time. Gabrielle knew Marga was giving her an opening, a chance to explain. Why hadn't she told them about this?   
  
The gathering had grown very still, waiting for her answer. Gabrielle thought she must look like a tousle-headed child, slightly dazed from a too-sudden awakening. Doggedly, she focused her mind on a single thought: there was only one person who could have told Livia about the pendant's significance, Xena. And Xena wouldn't have done it if she wasn't sure of her daughter. Livia wants peace, Gabrielle told herself firmly. Livia is not like Hope, she can change. Livia had already changed. She had to believe it.   
  
Cyane's brows furrowed in thought; she glanced back to the waiting Romans. "Could someone have taken the pendant from Eve's body? Perhaps Livia bought it..."   
  
"No." Gabrielle clipped the word sharply. She refused to look away from the faces turned to her. It was time to stop lying. "Livia is Eve."   
  
There was a long silence – then everything fell apart. Amazons yelled over one another, demanding answers, crowding her. Gabrielle tried to fend them off, but could find no voice to silence them. Marga did it for her, motioning at the guards to lead the Romans out of earshot. Rufus and the others followed the guards reluctantly, stopping when they were well away.   
  
"How can this be?" Marga asked, frowning at Gabrielle. "You said Eve was not buried in the mountain with you, but was killed in a fall..."   
  
"She survived. The Romans found her."   
  
The cries rose again; Gabrielle caught Varia's stunned look, but could offer no more explanations, not now. She wished she was a better person. She wished she didn't resent Xena for having saved her daughter.   
  
"When did you plan on telling us, sister?" Prothoë's voice sliced through the din, forcing the cries to quieten. "What other secrets do you have from us?"   
  
"I'm sorry." To Gabrielle's surprise, her voice did not sound helpless but almost reasonable, controlled. "I misled you only in this, nothing else. The truth is, I didn't..." She paused. "I didn't believe that Livia could be changed. But Xena did. That's why she stayed beside her, to try to ... make her understand."   
  
"So Livia is Xena's daughter," one of the Southern queens said at last, as though coming to terms with the idea. Someone made a sound of disbelief, other shook their heads.   
  
"She is." Gabrielle glanced up and saw that Marga had signalled the guards to bring the Roman messengers back; the three of them were now walking back briskly, surrounded by Amazon spears.   
  
"Is that why Xena could not stop her?" asked Cyane. "Because Livia is her own child?"   
  
Gabrielle saw no malice in Cyane's keen eyes, only an honest question. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. Xena trusted Livia with the pendant. Trust Xena.   
  
"Xena did stop her," she said. "She gave her daughter that pendant for a reason. With her right of caste, Eve can negotiate with us without losing face in front of her men. We can make an alliance with Rome to benefit us all, instead of destroying each other in this war."   
  
"Ally ourselves with Rome?" Varia, beside her, all but choked out the words. "That's insane!"   
  
Gabrielle felt a slap of heat on her face; coming from Varia, the words hurt much worse than all of Prothoë's accusations. She had grown used to relying on Varia's support.   
  
"Is that such a foolish notion?" one of the Romans spoke up.   
  
Gabrielle started at the familiar voice, then her mouth went dry. "Livia?.."   
  
Livia removed her helmet and shook out her long dark curls, clearly enjoying the scattered gasps of the Amazons. Rufus and the other man stepped back deferentially. The tension in the ring of guards went up a notch; they edged their spears closer. Livia held out her hands to show that she was unarmed – and that she had the right of caste pendant. She slipped it around her neck.   
  
"Your queen speaks sense." Her voice was faultlessly polite, crisp. "I came here myself as a gesture of trust. It would be a pity to waste our people's lives when we can work together."   
  
"Not a pity to waste yours!" yelled one of the Amazons, and Prothoë agreed calmly, "We could kill you where you stand, Roman. The archers in that tower never miss."   
  
Livia spared her a tolerant look. "You could. I stand unarmed in your camp. It would be – easy."   
  
Gabrielle felt her own cheeks colouring, even as she saw the same response in the other Amazons: embarrassment at the dishonourable threat, and grudging admiration of Livia's bravery. That was how she'd built her following, Gabrielle realised. That was how the baby in Xena's arms had become Rome's Champion: she acted as though she could be nothing less.   
  
Livia looked at her. For a moment, Gabrielle forgot to breathe. Those were Xena's eyes, piercing right through her soul, but with none of Xena's warmth or forgiveness. See, they seemed to say, Xena doesn't need you. Her daughter is here to speak of peace – not because of you, Gabrielle, but despite you. Gabrielle suppressed a shudder. When had Livia become Xena's Hope in her mind? When had she decided that Livia could not change?   
  
"Queen Gabrielle," Livia acknowledged her. "I believe we've already met."   
  
Gabrielle nodded uneasily. "We have."   
  
"Only then you were a spy in my army."   
  
"I wasn't a spy!" Gabrielle protested, then realised how silly that sounded. What else had 'Jana' been? "I was your mother's friend," she finished lamely.   
  
"Of course," Livia agreed too easily, then looked past her, to address the rest of the council. "I appreciate your acceptance of my messengers, but I would like to negotiate with you fairly, as one of your own. As an Amazon."   
  
"You want a seat on the council?" Marga asked incredulously. "But that's impossible. Gabrielle is queen of your tribe."   
  
"Yes, she is," Livia said. "For now."   
  
Gabrielle felt as if she had been struck with a staff, her legs cracked under her. Livia went on, "By Amazon law, I can take her place, if –" she looked directly at Gabrielle – "I challenge her."   
  
The world seemed to be spinning; all Gabrielle could see was Livia's triumphant stare and the blur of Amazon faces around her, soundless, caught, hemmed in. She'd feared a Roman attack, but Livia had found a much easier way to destroy the Amazons, one they could not refuse without denying their laws, denying themselves.   
  
No queen could refuse a rightful challenge. Livia had the right of caste. She had the right to challenge.   
  
Marga turned to Gabrielle with fury and sadness in her face, and Gabrielle wanted suddenly to thank her for it, for this quiet dignity she gave her.   
  
"She has the right to do this," Marga said with dark regret. "She has your right of caste. If you decline... If you decline, you forfeit to Rome."   
  
That seemed to change something for the others; Gabrielle realised that the Amazons saw a truth in Livia's challenge, a test for them. Livia had walked into their camp unarmed. Now she wanted to know if the Amazon queen had the same courage, if she was a worthy opponent. One negotiated with equals, just as one fought with equals. They were counting on their queen to uphold their honour.   
  
They were counting on her to fight Xena's child.   
  
Gabrielle could not speak; she stood perfectly still until there was silence, until they were all watching her. Livia's eyes remained cool and calm, twin mirrors that threw Gabrielle's own fear back at her, revealing nothing of the woman's own thoughts.   
  
"I'm losing my patience, Amazon Queen. What is your decision?"   
  
"I don't want to fight you, Eve." Once the words were out, Gabrielle could not stop herself. She felt foolish prickling tears pressing into her eyes, her nose. She remembered holding this baby in her arms, still slick with afterbirth, warm, crimson-faced from screaming. "I held you, when you were born." The tears were spilling now, not a thing she could do about it. "You're Xena's daughter! And because you are hers you are mine also, and all the Amazons'. You don't need to fight us, Eve. You are one of us."   
  
Gabrielle saw something flinch and twist in Livia's face, breaking the mask of confidence. She took a slow, tentative step forward, not daring to breathe. Livia glared at her, but said nothing. Gabrielle took another step, then another, until she was close enough to see that Livia's self-assurance was a bluff; her hands were shaking and her breathing was as quick as a child's.   
  
"Daughter of Xena," Gabrielle said solemnly, "you can create peace between us and Rome. Do it, Eve. Come home."   
  
Livia's face contorted violently. "Forget it!"   
  
She looked over Gabrielle's head at the rest of the council, the Amazon Queens who were watching them in tense heavy silence. "What is this Xena to you?" she demanded. Her gaze ricocheted from one woman to the next, challenging, angry. "Don't any of you remember what she did to you?! Let me remind you. My – mother," she stressed the word, "murdered Amazons in cold blood!"   
  
She paused in disgust, as though the story pained her.   
  
"This Xena whom your queen here holds in such respect once invaded a sacred ritual and slaughtered all the elders of the Northern tribes. The entire council, gone. Just like that." Livia's gaze stopped on Cyane, acknowledging her Northern dress. "Isn't that so, Amazon?"   
  
"It's true," Cyane conceded. Gabrielle caught her apologetic glance.   
  
"There, it's true!" Livia rejoined with a bright, false smile. "You see—"   
  
"Wait," Cyane protested, "We don't deny Xena's crimes, but she was also the one who came back to save us and make us strong again..."   
  
It was too late; no one was listening. Livia's aim had been impeccable, Gabrielle looked pleadingly to the others, but their eyes were bright and hard, and there were more words spilling from Livia's mouth in a torrent of violence: "I am not Xena! I will never backstab you the way she did, never! Your laws are my laws, and I will obey them. Obey you, the Amazon council!"   
  
The Amazon yelled their approval, united in mutual hatred, mutual purpose, cobbled together into a nation by Livia with such ease. Gabrielle felt lightheaded, as though her feet could not quite reach the ground in this sea of grimacing faces... They believed her. They believed Livia, they saw her fire and did what they would have never expected – accepted her, trusted her, believed that she understood them. Effortlessly, Livia had supplanted Gabrielle.   
  
"She has them."   
  
Gabrielle turned at Cyane's words, at their sadness that carried through all the noise.   
  
"You'll have to fight her," Cyane said gravely. "If you don't, it is over. She will make them Rome's slaves and they'll never notice."   
  
Gabrielle glanced back at the Amazons who now surrounded Livia, at Varia's upturned face ablaze with the reflected fire from Livia's words, at Marga's level stare, at Prothoe's flaming hair in the wind like a banner of war. Then Livia's stare met hers, over the crowd. Startled, Gabrielle felt her face grow hot, her tongue numb with fear. There was a triumph in Livia's eyes that was obscenely familiar. Xena. Xena could smile that way, when her sword was in her hands, a moment before it sliced a man's throat.   
  
Someone's hand was gentle on Gabrielle's shoulder. "I can fight her for you." Cyane's voice. "I know what she – what Xena... What they mean to you."   
  
Gabrielle shook her head without looking away from Livia. "No." She imagined this fight, Cyane collapsing under Livia's sword, her eyes huge and kind and closing slowly, her head hitting the ground with a hollow crack, dead. No, it was the other way around, it was Eve who fell in ponderous slow motion while Gabrielle stood by and watched... "No." She turned to Cyane, squeezed her hand quickly. "It's not your fight." Then a black humour twisted her mouth, and she didn't know if it was Cyane she spoke to, or the gods, or no one at all. "Of course, why not. I've already killed one daughter."   
  
She ignored Cyane's sound of shocked anguish, and stepped forward. In the loud, clear voice of the Amazon Queen she said, "Livia! I accept your challenge."   
  
There was a brief silence. Gabrielle held Livia's cold eyes, her head raised, her shoulders squared. Then Varia's voice called her name – "Gabrielle!" – and it became a chant around her and Livia, encircling the two of them as they watched each other – "Gab-ri-elle! Gab-ri-elle!" – only Gabrielle couldn't even hear it, and the faces seemed all a blur around Livia, around those blue blue eyes that belonged to Xena. That was all that remained, Gabrielle thought, all that was left to her of Xena. She was going to kill their one remaining child, or die at her hand, it didn't matter which. Either way it was over.   
  
Good-bye, my friend, she said silently, and then aloud – "I love you, Xena."   
  
Livia smiled.   
  


* * *

  
  
The fight had started. Ares found himself pacing the prison tent, three strides from one corner to the next along the wall and back again. Damn, damn, damn. His fist scraped the wall as he walked, the edge of his ring leaving pale scratches in the dark oily leather. He stared at those lines, refusing to turn around, to see the body on the floor. He had made the mistake of looking before and now couldn't dislodge the image from his mind. It wasn't Xena. It couldn't be Xena, she had no right to look this way!   
  
Ares stopped, turned around. The vaguely human shape was still there: a tangle of naked limbs in the dirt, the pale oval of her back criss-crossed by unnaturally straight lines, the violet, red, brown skin shiny and raised and looking like something fake, not skin at all but painted wax. One arm held an upturned leather bucket, hugging it close. It wasn't Xena. Ares thought of her in the rage of battle, galloping wild into the thick of horses and men, screaming, invincible...   
  
But she wasn't invincible. She was human, broken, hurt. Ares stood rigid in the shadows, watching. He thought he saw her move, her fingers twitch slightly.   
  
"Xena?" Was that croak really his voice?   
  
She made a sound that was half-breath, as though the pain surprised her, turned her head then was still again. He could see her face now. There seemed to be a drumbeat outside, the call of the distant fight, the Amazons' drums, Livia. Ares felt its pull like a string on his mind, urging him to get out of here and take his place at the fight, to see his daughter finally become his champion. He didn't move. Something was swelling up in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. There were twin red spots of fever in Xena's cheeks; around them her skin was so pale that it seemed to glow faintly in the half-darkness. How could she lie there? Why didn't she wake up, get up, do something?! He wanted to touch her. He couldn't touch her; he felt a mad conviction that if he did her skin would be cold, brittle as ice. His chest kept swelling until air and words were stuck in his throat like a wad of bandages. He wanted to kiss her.   
  
Xena opened her eyes.   
  
Instinctively Ares moved back into the shadows, but everything in him leapt forward, to her. The drumbeat was louder than ever, battering the tent; it took him a moment to realise it was raining.   
  
"Eve challenged Gabrielle," he blurted out. He felt a suffocating anxiety that it was too late, though for what he could not say.   
  
"Eve?" Xena sat up without so much as wincing at her injuries, stood up. Rainwater was leaking in through the roof, drops hitting the floor between them. "There is no Eve, Ares. Not anymore." Her eyes were level with his now, looking at him without depth, without even the spark of anger. "Her name is Livia."   
  
Ares held out his hand and focused on a single thought. There was a brief flash of aether; when it faded, he was holding Xena's chakram. Her armour and leather tunic lay in a heap on the floor; he saw her eyes dart to them quickly, widening. "What are you doing?"   
  
"Take it." When Xena didn't move, Ares thrust the chakram into her hand furiously, "Take it!"   
  
He had to get out of here, get away; he couldn't stand Xena's eyes and this awful hot tenderness inside him; he couldn't stand the sound of the rain and the drums and the knowledge that he was as close as he'd ever been to seeing every one of his plans fulfilled – Rome, the Amazons, war, a great champion – and all he could care about was the fear that he'd never hold Xena again.   
  
The aether flashed again, and Xena was left alone, holding the chakram like a shield before her.   
  
Her child was dead. Her friend was not – not yet.   
  
There was a harsh noise like a shriek, then rain and light spilled into the tent from the ruptured wall, a thin horizontal wedge of whiteness. Xena felt tears in her eyes, swiped at them with her free hand, kicked aside the heap of armour on the floor as she cut the wall again and ran out. She felt that her whole body had been taken over by a great force she could neither understand nor control; it propelled her through the Roman camp as though it were no more than a theatre-set of paper tents and soldiers while she was a knife, cold and dead and very sharp. She felt no pain. There were faces around her, she caught them as glimpses of round-mouthed horror or pain, some trying to stop her with paper spears, paper words, others too stunned to do more than stare. Perhaps they thought of her as a fury or a goddess; it pleased Xena that they opened the gates and she didn't have to kill the guard. What was his name? She would remember later, not now, not yet.   
  
The rain was coming down harder now, roaring like an army in the open marshes, adding water to boggy ground to turn it into treacle through which she ran, stumbled, kept running as in a nightmare, never fast enough. The rain hid the Amazon camp from view, but it also hid her from the Romans, should any be mad enough to come after her. There were sounds of a fight now, in the distance, distorted by the rain. Xena stopped, clutched at a clump of coarse reeds for support, listened. Another scream, some more sounds, steel on steel. Water was coursing down her face, unchecked, the cold climbing from her numb muddied feet into her bones.   
  
She heard another noise, a high note that could have only been Gabrielle; Xena knew it the way she knew that it was her own skin the rain touched, the way she knew the feel of her own hands. Gabrielle! For a moment she was lost, caught unprepared by the collapse of the walls she had put up in her mind to live with this separation, with Gabrielle's absence. Then the scream came again and drove all thought from her mind and she was running, running again towards the sound, towards that place where the only friend she had ever known was calling for her, across the marshes and the rain and the bodies of their children, and the walls.   
  
"Gabrielle!"   
  
"Halt!"   
  
Xena came up short, raising her head to the rain so she could see the guardtower. The dirt wall was high, a ditch before it filled with turbid water and sharp stakes; the tower was even higher, the rain seemed to come from its roof. Two Amazons archers had their bows on her. Xena didn't raise her voice. "Open the gate."   
  
The archers stared down at her over their nocked arrows, silent.   
  
Xena yelled out, "Open the gate!"   
  
The two arrows came at her at once, she threw one aside with her chakram, caught the other. She raised the circular blade to the rain, then the arrow. She saw the guards hesitate.   
  
"Please," she said, not knowing until that very moment that she would plead with those she should kill. "Gabrielle doesn't have much time."   
  
The guards fell back from the wall a bit, perhaps conferring. Then part of the gate was wrenched open abruptly and a plank fell over the ditch, bridging it. Xena ran in, nearly cannoning into the Amazon who held the gate; then she was inside – and everything changed.   
  
She saw Gabrielle.   
  
In that same moment she also the rest, the whole scene frozen like a snapshot of lightning, each motion caught clearly, without shadow. The marshalling ground puddled with mud; the ring of spears held flat to enclose the fight; the pressing, screaming crowd of Amazon queens with two red-crested Roman helmets bright among them, and the rain, the sword, the white steel raised high over Livia's head – and Gabrielle's white face beneath it.   
  
"Livia!"   
  
Xena saw the sword pause, saw the faces turn to her in the rain, heard Gabrielle's cry of surprise.   
  
"Oh good," Livia screamed past the crowd, "Mum's here!" Then her blade fell screaming towards Gabrielle.   
  
Xena released her chakram. In the split second of its flight she met Gabrielle's eyes; they were vivid green in the rain and so tired, dangerously tired, the eyes of one who has chosen to walk into death. Xena felt a rage so hot it choked her. Why Gabrielle? Why her again, after everything she'd suffered, everything she'd lived through! It hadn't been Gabrielle who'd brought Livia into the world, it wasn't her fight! She wanted to rush to her, to hold on to Gabrielle with all her strength, to kneel and beg her forgiveness – but how could she deserve that forgiveness when her chakram was in the air and she could not help but look at Livia, the Roman commander, not Eve, not Eve, not Eve...   
  
A spear fell to the ground, two Amazons diving out of the way in the last moment, the chakram searing past them and into its mark.   
  
It struck Livia's sword.   
  
Xena felt her relief like a weakness. She saw Gabrielle tuck and roll and knew she was safe, saw the sword fly wildly from Livia's reach as the chakram went spinning up, high into the air.   
  
The wrong way.   
  
She felt a jolt of vertigo: her chakram! Livia had deflected it with a swift twist of her blade, expertly, as though she had been waiting for this; when the chakram came down, she caught it with a snap.   
  
"Nice try, mother. You've never given me a toy before."   
  
She raised the weapon, taunting Xena with her possession of it, as though she held her soul. Abruptly, Xena understood; her eyes darted to Gabrielle, coming out of the roll on the other side of the ring, about to stand... Then Livia's scream pierced the crowd, the rain, and she was flying through the air, turning over as the chakram split into sharp halves in her hands.   
  
"Gabrielle, move!"   
  
But it was too late; someone in the crowd shrieked, then there was a blur of motion and the unmistakable sound of torn flesh and two half-round blades protruding from Gabrielle's chest with Livia's hands still on them, making the things look obscenely like handles, like some terrible claws by which she held Gabrielle.   
  
Xena broke through the ring of guards; she was through the crowd of strangers and at Gabrielle's side, refusing to think, refusing to see it.   
  
Gabrielle reached to her: small, fragile, covered in mud and Amazon war-paint. There were tears in her eyes, tears in Gabrielle's beautiful eyes, warmer than rain. For a moment Xena thought it was she who was dying and the blood streaming over Amazon armour and whitening skin was hers. Yet she didn't fall when Gabrielle did. Gabrielle's body folded slowly as though cut at the feet, cut free from the ground, strangely graceful. The blades, Livia's claws, slid out of her as she fell. Xena caught her, but it seemed she couldn't hold her, the body she held was no longer enough to contain Gabrielle, there were gashes in her chest, blood. Gabrielle's mouth opened slightly, without breath for speech. Then it was over. Without a word from Gabrielle, it was over.   
  
She was dead.   
  
Xena looked up, unaware of the numb silence of the Amazons, unaware that there was no more rain.   
  
Livia held the chakram, two halves of metal covered with Gabrielle's blood. Her face was without expression. Xena stood. Something tore inside her, a quick death; then there was nothing more. She felt very calm. Each smear of blood on Livia's weapon stood out in stark acid-etched contrast, yet it was not the chakram Xena saw, but her own sword so many years ago, raised over Gabrielle's newborn child. Incongruously, the chakram moved closer, as though Livia was offering it, like a sacrifice, like a new child. She said, "I killed him. Your Marcus. Your Gabrielle. She's dead, I killed her."   
  
"You killed her."   
  
"I thought you'd die if she... if she did – then I'd be free. From you. But..." Livia looked puzzled, her thin dark brows coming together. "It's strange, I've never been afraid of anyone before... You're inside me, Semra. I think. In here." She pointed at her own chest with both hands, both sides of the chakram. Gabrielle's blood on the blades was bright-red, like the two Roman helmets in the crowd. "You called me Eve, when you came to find me in the temple in Rome. I remember now. In Dyrrachium, too." She put the chakram together with a click; Xena took it. "I remember," Livia repeated almost inaudibly. "You called me Eve."   
  
"Eve is dead," Xena said. Then she raised the chakram to her daughter's throat. "I'm here to avenge her."   
  
Livia started very slightly. Then she nodded once, an abrupt up-and-down jerk of her head. "Do it then." She tipped her head back, arching her neck to the curve of the blade. "Eve is dead."   
  
Xena held the chakram. The future motion of it was already in her arm, the potential for the kill coiled within her, like an army waiting for an order. She just had to let go.   
  
Movement erupted on all sides; Xena saw from the corners of her vision the bright plumes of Roman helmets and the earth shades of Amazon armour, threatening to close in. There were screams, isolated exclamations, Rufus' frantic cry of "Commander, back here!" and an answering volley of obscenities in Latin and Greek. Something stopped them all.   
  
Xena realised that Livia had raised her hand, sideways, her neck held still at the chakram's edge. There was a power in that movement, a command to stay out, stay away.   
  
The wave of the crowd receded. Not even Rufus spoke. Livia's hand fell back to her side amid a closed silence. Fear, Xena thought, fear was sour in the still-damp morning air, in the greyness of it. None of them understood this Roman baring her neck for death. Fear of the unknown. Fear of madness, too, of the madwoman in a scrap of linen over bloodied skin, of her wild eyes and scraggly dark hair and her arm held straight out to the neck of the Roman.   
  
Just let go.   
  
The skin of Livia's neck was pale and almost translucent; there was a fine blue line on the side of it, like a river viewed from high above, from the mountains. The chakram would bisect it. Xena followed the curve of Livia's neck up, to the lines of her jaw, her face. And stopped. Tilted away from her, the face seemed rounder, smaller, the eyes shut with long dark lashes. A child's face. Her child's face. The memories came to Xena clear as spring water: the warmth of the little body nuzzled against her breast, the soft fuzz of baby hair, the pink little mouth open in a surprised 'o' when her own hands or Gabrielle's would swing her into the air, teetering in indecision between fear and delight. Ares taking the baby gingerly, so tiny in his arms. The pain, the agonising ripping blindness of her birth. The peace.   
  
Her baby.   
  
Gabrielle's blood on the chakram burned her hand; Xena dropped the thing and it fell, flat down. It hit the ground and lay there, slick and red within dark glistening mud.   
  
Livia's head jerked up. Xena felt herself slip slowly backwards, as if she was a ghost whose time had run out all at once and now she was fading. The crowd fell away out of the shrinking range of her awareness. Whatever strength she'd found was leaving her now, draining like blood from Gabrielle's pierced body. Livia's hands caught her; they seemed very soft, a child's hands, and the sky drew closer somehow, colourless and pale like skin. She realised she was falling, and that the woman who had killed her soul was now holding her. These were the same hands that had killed Gabrielle. The same hands that had once been raised towards her in trust, demanding to be lifted up and held. The face pressed against her cheek was damp, trembling, the face of a murderer. Her baby's face. Her own face, Ares' face, Gabrielle's.   
  
"Eve," she said, "Eve..."   
  
She wished she could see her.   
  
After a while, Livia lowered her mother's unconscious body to the ground. She was gentle; she had never tried to be gentle before. Her mother... Other thoughts she would not allow herself now, but this one thought she knew she would need: her mother. She stood very calmly, turned to her two scouts in a smooth movement, perfectly composed. She had never been as perfect a Roman as now. She had never known how hard it was.   
  
"Rufus, I need the papers we've discussed. For the treaty."   
  
The young man looked confused, fearful. His freckles made him seem even younger. "The papers?" he repeated helplessly. "But the fight, you won it..."   
  
Livia shook her head slightly. "I lost."   
  
"But she's dead!" the other scout cut in, not clever, angry. Livia was glad she didn't know his name.   
  
An Amazon moved, came up between the two Romans, her stride as measured as the look in her eyes. A real Amazon, Livia thought, feeling younger herself now, feeling too Roman, a fool.   
  
"There are many kinds of loss," Marga said to the scout in her calm voice. Her dark eyes rested on Livia for a moment. Then she nodded, motioned to others behind her. "Sisters, Rome asks us for peace. Prepare the council tent for meeting. Livia will join you there."   
  
There was some hesitation, then several Amazons detached themselves from the group, gesturing to the scouts they should follow.   
  
"Varia!" Marga called.   
  
Livia followed the Amazon's gaze, turned and saw a short dark-haired girl crouched by Gabrielle's body, not touching it. There were two bright trails cutting through the ochre paint on her face, and her eyes were red. Marga bowed her head slightly at the girl, a silent acknowledgement of grief. "Take her body to the purification hut. She will have an Amazon burial, with honour – this treaty is hers. Gabrielle gave us peace." Marga sighed, went to touch the girl's shaking shoulders. "Do your duty, Varia. Once the treaty is signed we will build the pyre."   
  
Livia watched mutely as Varia stood, raised her head. "What about that one?" She nodded at Xena, avoiding Livia's eyes.   
  
Marga shook her head. "I'll see to Xena."   
  
And just like that, the Amazons were occupied with a myriad tasks; the air of death lifted from the marching ground, replaced with busy movements, purpose. Livia stood with Marga beside Xena's motionless form, only the three of them left. "The treaty," Marga reminded her.   
  
Livia nodded, then realised with a start that she wanted this strange woman's approval. That unnerved her. As though sensing Livia's withdrawal, Marga turned on her with unexpected fury, eyes afire. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare fight it now. Your mother is alive, be grateful for that. Gabrielle died to make this peace. Back out now, and I swear, I will kill Xena myself."   
  
There was nothing to cushion the shock; Livia stared. "What?"   
  
"You heard me. Xena has earned forgiveness for her crimes, but we do not forget that it was Xena who brought you into the world, and into our lives. If you back out on this treaty, she will die."   
  
Livia's face tightened in fury, but she controlled her voice. "You don't need to threaten me, sister. There will be peace."   
  
Marga gave her a long look, then the faintest of smiles creased her mouth. "Oh yes," she said, her voice lighter than anything Livia had heard before, "you are her daughter. I believe you, Eve."   
  
Then she turned away to help two other Amazons lift Xena onto a makeshift stretcher. Livia stared after them for a moment, feeling as though she had been given a blessing, a blessing so completely undeserved that she had a sense of profound terror at this moment of peace. Then she saw again the blood on the ground, blood spilled by her hands. She remembered her mother's eyes, her whispered lament – "Eve, Eve..." Like the keening of seabirds. Xena has earned forgiveness, Marga had said.   
  
Livia took a hard breath and looked towards the meeting tent and the gathering Amazon council. She didn't want forgiveness. Those who could give it were dead. She didn't know what she wanted now, except that she wanted this peace. And maybe one day her mother could call her Eve.   
  
  
  
  
  


Mourning

  
  


_And I'd give up forever to touch you,  
  
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow;  
  
You're as close to heaven as I'll ever be  
  
And I don't want to go home right now.  
  
And all I can taste is this moment,  
  
And all I can breathe is your light,  
  
'Cause sooner or later it's over  
  
I just don't want to miss you tonight.  
  
And I don't want the world to see me,  
  
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand,  
  
When everything's made to be broken,  
  
I just want you to know who I am..._   
  
"Iris", The Goo-Goo Dolls

  
  
  
  
The door closed behind Marga. Xena watched its slow creaking progress as white daylight was shut out, the hut regaining the dim air of a sick-room. Shadows encircled the bed. She swung her legs over and sat on the edge, looking down at her bare feet on the wooden floor. She thought, Gabrielle is dead.   
  
With the blanket over her shoulders like a cape, Xena rose painfully and walked over to the shuttered window. She leaned her face against the strips of wood, shut her eyes. Everything hurt. Her injuries, dressed by the Amazons, were almost comforting; there was something right about this dull pain, about the marks of the Roman whip on her back. She felt they belonged on her skin. But even now, her mind would not let her accept this relief; this self-pity. The cuts were nothing, they would heal. And Gabrielle was gone.   
  
There must have been a moment, Xena thought dully, when she could have made the right choice. There had been so many, she'd lost track... She had chased her daughter's soul feverishly, blindly, thinking all the time that if only she could see her baby again, even inside that grown woman, the warrior, then everything else would be fine, all would heal. Xena, I'm scared. Gabrielle's words before she left for the lands of the Amazons. Her face bright in the dark Roman tent, her lips white, frightened. It seemed impossible now that she had let Gabrielle go so easily. I'm scared.   
  
Well, she had her daughter now. Xena laughed bitterly, the sound a shock in the silent Amazon hut. She pushed away from the window, stood in the middle of the room, seeing nothing, her hands white-knuckled on the blanket at her throat. Gabrielle had died so that Eve could find herself. So Xena had her daughter. Wasn't she happy now? Wasn't it wonderful?!   
  
She'd made the choice, the choice she would not allow Ares to make for her. I'll take you to Gabrielle. She could have let him. She could have saved Gabrielle. Xena imagined it now, saw herself in the Amazon camp in Gabrielle's place, confronting Eve. Your quarrel is with me. Her child's eyes; angry, hurt, dead. And the red blade sliding out of her daughter's body.   
  
The blanket fell to the floor. Xena ripped at the fine soft leather of the garments Marga had given her, dropping them carelessly, stepping out of the skirt. Her face was set hard, a non-expression like the blank faces of the gods in Roman temples, meaningless staring eyes. She flung open the lid of the trunk by the bed, grabbed the familiar leathers of her own armour, brought back from the Roman camp, began to dress. Her hands weren't even shaking, she was fine.   
  
Dressed, she dipped her hands in the washbasin by the bed and splashed her face. The water fell in ripples, settling into her reflection. Xena studied it briefly, incuriously. Where to now? Marga had come in to ask her to sing the mourning chant for Gabrielle, a great honour. The ceremony would be starting soon. The smell of torches was already thickening even here, in the hut. It was the smell of the campfire, the memory of Gabrielle sitting by her side, scribbling something, looking into that fire the way the gods looked into the aether. Smiling at Xena. Hogging the best spot by the fire.   
  
Xena flung the basin down, it crashed to the floor and the water spilled everywhere, all reflections gone. The floorboards turned dark and wet. She had to get out. It meant walking away from the daughter Gabrielle had redeemed with her own blood. Already at the door, Xena hesitated. Would Gabrielle have wanted this? But the thought of facing Livia now, no Eve, facing Eve – that was impossible. Eve was signing the treaty, Marga had said. Good, that was good. There would be no war between Rome and the Amazons, there would be peace. Her job here was done.   
  
Xena turned one last time to look at the hut the Amazons had given her, its spartan emptiness. The pyre was ready outside, Xena could smell the incense smoke and hear the mourning chants. It seemed too staged, too easy. If that was grief, what was the emptiness in her body, this lack of feeling? Like a gag on her heart. In its depths, she could just make out the glimmer of love for her daughter. Irrational, to love the one who took away Gabrielle, and yet Xena was quite sure now that it was love, its fierce agony. She hoped that Eve would have the strength to bury Livia. Perhaps, Xena told herself, this would avenge Gabrielle somehow, prove that her death had not been in vain. At least there would be peace between Rome and the Amazons, at least...   
  
But she didn't care. Thousands of people saved, and all she knew was that Gabrielle was not among them.   
  
She found she was still standing by the door, as if waiting for something. It was one of those moments that seemed to pause and shimmer, and would then turn without warning into a blue flash of aether and the God of War. Only nothing happened, the room continued to reflect blankness: the dark shadow of the puddle on the floor, scattered clothes, bed, trunk, overturned basin, the smell of smoke. No Ares. Xena recalled his face back in the Roman prison tent, the fear in his eyes as he thrust her chakram at her, handing her the escape she would not take from him before.   
  
Handing her the weapon to stop a war.   
  
Something stirred in the bruised emptiness inside her, a feeling almost like wistfulness. It was more sentimental than she had wanted to be, probably useless. Ares had been honest with her after all. He had wanted to help, that one time, for the first time in his life maybe. It mattered, Xena thought, but how could it matter? Why should these stupid tears fall from her eyes now when they would not fall for Gabrielle, for her daughter? Why the hell was she crying for Ares?   
  
No, she had to get out, now, escape the mourning rites. It was the smoke, that was it, the smoke making her cry, blurring the room. Xena found the iron ring on the door by touch, pulled at it with a hard tug and was out. Daylight blinded her momentarily.   
  
Then the brightness was gone, she saw – and caught her breath.   
  


* * *

  
  
So these were the Halls of War. The heavy doors swung inward ponderously at the touch of Athena's cool hand, revealing nothing but darkness, vast and shapeless.   
  
"Ares!" she called loudly, walking forward in the dark.   
  
There was no answer, just the echo of her voice and footsteps against marble. The needle of worry she'd felt since she heard of the duel in the Amazons' camp grew without warning into something heavier, like fear. Where was her brother? She didn't like to intrude into this illusion of privacy he'd created, but there was no help for it. She had to find him before he did something stupid. She strode deeper into the hall, gesturing at the unseen torches in exasperation. The flames leapt at once, and the hall burst into brightness.   
  
Athena stared. There, by the heavy carved throne, was her brother. She saw him in profile from where she stood in the middle of the room; he was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the side of the throne. His head was tilted back as though he was admiring the ceiling, but his eyes were shut.   
  
"Go away," Ares said without opening his eyes.   
  
Athena hesitated; then, moved by an impulse that was more camaraderie than pity, she went to the throne dais and sat beside him on the floor. He turned his head and gave her a heavy, obstinate stare. "I'm not in the mood for a lecture."   
  
"That makes two of us," Athena said lightly.   
  
Ares looked away again, and Athena thought how strange this was, the two of them sitting on the floor, side by side. Sister and brother. She'd forgotten how it was, to be children together. He used to be smaller than her. She thought of taking his hand now, the way she'd done once, but the impulse died half-formed. Instead she spoke, picking up mid-thought.   
  
"You could've just ended the fight, taken them away."   
  
Ares shrugged. "So." It came out as a statement, two statements. Yes. It would've changed nothing. "It had to end anyway."   
  
"Xena's alive."   
  
"I know." Ares tapped his chest vaguely, as if to indicate a pain. Abruptly he turned, and Athena was shocked by his eyes, the strength of his anger, if it was anger. "What do you want from me?" he burst out. "You want to hear that you warned me – fine then, you did. You said Livia was a liability, you said if I messed with Xena I'd risk all I am; you were right. But you know what, sis?" He gave her a grim little smirk. "I don't give a damn. It's over. Xena's little friend is dead; Eve and the Amazons are going to burn her to a crisp and howl at the moon in her honour, and dance, and eat, and sign treaties, and Xena's going to watch." His voice fell. He gave a small shrug. "Then she'll probably gather up those ashes and carry them around for the rest of her life. End of story."   
  
Athena felt stunned, physically numbed by this outburst. Ares was glaring at her, his fists clenched against the floor by his sides. So. She had expected something else, self-pity or anger or both, but not like this. Not about this. She'd thought it was the war he was mourning, the loss of another scheme, a good scheme really. So. It wasn't the war then. It was the woman.   
  
Xena.   
  
"What about your daughter?" Athena asked, just to break the silence.   
  
Ares opened his fists, glanced at them, almost puzzled. "I don't know," he admitted finally. "She's too much like her. Her mother. I never know about her, either."   
  
Afterwards, Athena could never think of what moved her to respond as she did; something mortal, certainly, some strange feeling like pity or envy. She knew only that she would miss her brother, and that perhaps this meant she loved him, and thus that she, too, could love.   
  
She said, "Here," and held out her hand. Ares jerked aside from the hot flare of light in her palm, but it was gone in an instant, and there, gleaming in the light of the many torches, was a silver jar.   
  
"Ambrosia," Athena said quite calmly. "More than enough."   
  
Ares continued staring at the jar, its lid askew and a faint red glow floating from within, illuminating Athena's wrist.   
  
"Go on," she said, obscurely annoyed at him now. He looked at her with distrust, and that only annoyed her more. She stood up and dropped the jar in his lap. He caught it, of course.   
  
"You're not setting me up?"   
  
"Don't be a fool, Ares. You have time; long enough to —" she found it was hard to speak treason, harder than the doing of it. "Long enough, anyway. I'll keep the others off your back while I can."   
  
"Dad's gonna kill you."   
  
Athena gave him a sardonic look, the one she knew he couldn't stand. "The God of War, scared for his big sister?"   
  
Ares got up in one movement, standing tall over her. Then, unexpectedly, he thrust his hand out and gripped her arm hard, once.   
  
"Get lost," she said, but the room was already empty. The aether flared and died.   
  
Athena stood there a moment, rubbing her arm. She was the Goddess of Wisdom, and she'd just done something completely, mind-bogglingly stupid. She had never gone against what she was before! But Fates, it felt good. It felt... free.   
  


* * *

  
  
Gabrielle could not have imagined that being dead would be so uncomfortable. Admittedly, she had only been dead once before – well, almost – and she vaguely remembered Heaven as a place of piercing white light and solemn-faced winged spirits, none of whom had looked especially happy to be there. She recalled little else, but she was quite certain that there had been no endless darkness and no grating, repetitive screaming somewhere in the unseen distance. For a moment she was afraid this might mean she was in Hell or in Tartarus, but she dismissed the idea indignantly. At any rate, it wasn't hot enough. Then the screams were joined by the beat of drums and the stamp of a hundred feet, beads clanking. The beat was a simple monotone, one, two-three-four, one two-three-four, distant but quite clear, accompanied by wails of mourning, thin high sounds of sadness, like the cries of the Amazons...   
  
Amazons.   
  
Gabrielle could've slapped her forehead in the darkness: of course, Amazons! She was an Amazon. That meant she would go to their land of the dead.   
  
Relief made her giddy: Xena could find her here. She remembered Xena's terse, reluctant account of her sojourn in the Amazons' afterworld, when she'd been searching for Gabrielle there. Xena would find her.   
  
Gabrielle tried to imagine what it would be like. Maybe they could walk together through the pale grasslands and hills, through the gate to Eternity. Leave that other, crazed, world, with its swords and armies and guilt and vengeance and duty. It would be just her and Xena again, discovering another world, nothing this time to drive them apart. Here in this afterworld Xena would see her heart, would know that she'd never wanted to abandon her and betray her trust. Here Gabrielle would never, never again have to choose many lives over one, would never raise a sword against the daughter of her friend, would never detest her own soul for the suffering she caused... In that other world, Livia would repent and become Eve, and here, Xena would know that she did all she could for her daughter; then, when it would all be remote and complete, Gabrielle would turn to her and say only – "I'm sorry".   
  
And Xena would hear her; and hearing, she would forgive.   
  
Hot tears slipped from Gabrielle's eyes, but to her surprise they did not fall, just stayed damp and cooling on her eyelids. Then her perspective shifted and she realised that she was lying down, flat on her back with her eyes closed.   
  
Oh great. So much for the darkness. If she wasn't dead she'd be blushing. Feeling foolish, Gabrielle opened her eyes – and saw Ares.   
  
She sat bolt upright, realising then that in this afterlife she was in a wooden hut, on a bed strewn with green branches, with the peppery smell incense everywhere and light streaming in through all the gaps in the woodwork. It all looked very Amazon, except for the dark hulking god standing across from her, reading a scroll.   
  
Gabrielle blinked, staring. What the hell did Ares have to do with the Amazon dead? Was she stuck with him for a guide again, like in the Temple of Mnemosyne years ago? And wait a minute... Her eyes narrowed.   
  
"Hey, that's my scroll!" She jumped off the bed and strode across the room, fuming. She saw her pack lying on the floor, all her recent scrolls spilling out haphazardly, half the seals broken. "What do you think you're doing? This stuff is mine!"   
  
Ares' faced showed over the top of the parchment, and Gabrielle thought she saw a flash of surprise and a sort of nervous relief. Then his usual smug grin came back and he rolled up the scroll and let her yank it from his hands. "So you made it. Welcome back."   
  
"Huh?" Gabrielle glanced about the room; she was positive she had never seen it before. "Back where?"   
  
He gestured at her impatiently. "Your body, physical form, whatever you want to call it."   
  
Gabrielle felt a crawling suspicion of something immense, impossible. She looked down at herself and saw that she was wearing a long white wrap and there were no wounds on her chest. Not that it proved anything, but...   
  
"I'm supposed to be dead."   
  
"Well, there's been a change of plan," Ares said curtly, then nodded at the door. "You better tell your friends the Amazons to hold off on that barbecue. And, –" he looked down for a moment, "you better tell Xena."   
  
"Xena?.."   
  
"Yeah. See you round."   
  
"Wait!" Gabrielle grabbed his arm as he turned to go. "What in Tartarus are you talking about?" All her confusion had turned to anger. "What did you do?"   
  
"You don't catch on real quick, do you?"   
  
Ares' tone was condescending, but his eyes were dark and so strange that Gabrielle could not hold on to her anger. She released his arm, standing there uncertainly, not quite daring to trust the life he claimed was inside her. Then something made her remember: Xena's cold body, snow, another Amazon village years ago, Xena asking her to restore her life...   
  
"Ambrosia," she said, awed by the realisation. Now that she thought of it, there was an odd sweetish taste in her mouth. She swallowed quickly. "You gave me ambrosia! To bring me back, like I did for Xena before."   
  
"Yeah well. Don't let it go to your head. I didn't do it for you."   
  
Gabrielle frowned. "Then why ... Oh, I see!" Her eyes flashed angrily. "Now that I owe you, I'm supposed to lead the Amazons in war?"   
  
"I think your line is, 'Thank you for saving my life, Ares.'"   
  
"Thank you for saving my life, Ares," Gabrielle rattled off impatiently, "but I'm not about to become your warrior queen..."   
  
"That is definitely not your line. And you can relax: Livia signed the treaty."   
  
Gabrielle gaped at him. Then slowly, realisation dawned on her: she recalled the fear in Livia's eyes as she raised the chakram, covered in blood, as though she had crossed some line inside herself. Like Xena's eyes, after she would come back from one of her rages. Full of recognition.   
  
She shook her head slowly at Ares. "So Xena did it. Eve made peace."   
  
"Yes she did," Ares said, as the songs of mourning outside grew louder, "Now would you get out there and tell them to stop all that weeping and wailing, before Xena hears and goes on another wild-goose chase to rescue you from the Amazon afterlife? Really, Gabrielle – once was enough."   
  
"Excuse me!" Gabrielle flared. "That was not my fault! It was years ago, and Xena could have climbed down into the lava pit to look for me, instead of running straight to the underworld... Wait." She stopped. "How do you know that story?"   
  
Ares picked up the scroll he'd been reading and flipped into her hand. "Thanks for the read."   
  
"You could've asked," Gabrielle said huffily, taking the scroll. Then she raised her eyes and saw that Ares had stepped back, about to disappear.   
  
Only nothing happened. He stayed where he was. Gabrielle thought she saw sharp terror in his eyes, but before she could be sure, the air flashed blue and Ares was gone. She rubbed her eyes to lose the afterimages, then took a gulp of the incense-filled air – and sneezed.   
  
And that was when it finally hit her: she was alive!   
  
She was alive and Xena was alive, and there was peace between Rome and the Amazons. She had to go and see Xena, right now, everything else could wait, would have to wait.   
  
Gabrielle gathered up the folds of her wrap in one hand and flung open the door...   
  
... And found herself staring at the open door of another hut ten paces away. Or rather, the woman standing in front of it. She was tall, she had long black hair, the style of her armour was twenty-five years out of date – and she was staring right back.   
  
"Xena!!" Gabrielle gasped. And without another thought she threw herself in Xena's general direction, with barely enough time to glimpse Xena's shocked face before they collided, and were locked together in a bone-crunching embrace. She knew she was going to be a blubbering mess and didn't care, not at all, not if Xena was right here with her and they were holding each other and Xena was asking her how, how it was possible, how she could be here and all she could do was repeat, "I missed you, I missed you so much!"   
  
Sometime much later, they finally separated enough to notice the very silent crowd of Amazons staring at them, all in full mourning paint. There was a enormous pyre behind them.   
  
"Um," Gabrielle said. She looked up at Xena, then at the stunned Amazons, then back at Xena. Then she started to laugh.   
  
  
  
  
  


Falling Upwards

  
  


_For years I endured, but on one of those nights,  
  
I rose and silently opened the window.  
  
Holding on to the handrail of the rays of your light,  
  
I did what I'd dreamed of for years and years:  
  
I stepped into nothing. _  
  
Nautilus Pompilius, "She Who Runs Far Ahead"

  
  
  
  
The moment Ares entered the aether he knew he was trapped. The brilliant whiteness around him whirled upwards with a roar like a tornado, and for a single horrifying instant he thought he was going to die. He was spinning wildly, faster and faster, and the roar rose to a high-pitched scream on the very edge of his hearing, piercing his skull with pain so intense he saw see colours. His mind was a mess; he thought he heard voices in the sickening swirl of aether – it sounded like Athena's calm tones and Aphrodite's sniffles and Hera's tut-tutting – then, very clearly, he heard the tired heavy voice of his father say: "You are no longer my son."   
  
And then, nothing.   
  
The swirling stopped dead, as though the bottom had dropped out of the aether. Ares had a moment's sensation of weightlessness – then, without warning, something wide and green slammed him hard in the face. The ground.   
  
Not this again...   
  
Ares groaned, raising his head to spit out a mouthful of moss. Mortal again. What a damned surprise.   
  
He clutched the nearest tree to hoist himself up. The world was swimming in and out of focus weirdly, and there was a ringing noise in his ears that did nothing good for his head. He climbed to his feet, then regretted it immediately: the ground lurched forward and he stumbled, catching himself just in time. If only his stomach would stop heaving! Instead it gave a shuddering spasm, jerked sideways... and to his horror, Ares retched loudly into the grass.   
  
Beads of sweat broke over his forehead. Cursing, he stumbled backwards and spat to rid his mouth of the sour taste, fighting down the small waves of sickness in his gut. It felt like the last of his powers were being purged from him.   
  
He stared down at the grass and dead brown leaves littering the forest floor. Everything had changed. Distant battles no longer tugged at his mind, no warriors vied for his attention; he could feel no sacrifices or prayers – forget prayers, he could barely feel his own body.   
  
He was no longer a god. And he had only himself to thank for it.   
  
Ares hauled himself over to a tree stump a little way away and dropped onto it, clutching his throbbing head.   
  
It was enough to make any sane god wish for Tartarus. He actually felt some surprise that dear old dad had not sent him down there; Athena or Aphrodite must have managed to talk him out of it. Not that it mattered, seeing as Zeus had cut him off altogether. No more second chances for Ares. They'd even taken his sword from him; the absence of its weight at his hip was more upsetting than he cared to admit. Well, he'd been expecting this much. Didn't make the experience any more enjoyable.   
  
He sat still for a while, until the various aches and pains in his newly-mortal body subsided enough that he could open his eyes without feeling like his head would explode from the light. Cautiously, Ares prodded his temples; his head gave a dull thud, but the worst was definitely over. He felt himself cheering a little. All right, so he was mortal – it wasn't the end of the world. Xena would come and find him, after she recovered from the shock of seeing Gabrielle alive and well, and hearing about the ambrosia...   
  
Except that Xena had absolutely no idea where he was. And neither did he.   
  
This worrying thought grew and grew, compounded by his headache and the sour dry feeling in his mouth that had to be thirst. He had to do something, find someone. Find Xena. What if he never saw her again? He hadn't thought of that.   
  
After pacing uselessly around the small clearing where he'd sat, Ares began walking, with the vague idea of getting out of the forest and trying to get his bearings. Was it just his imagination, or did the trees look different? They seemed taller, their canopy higher, far away. Or was it just because he could no longer transport himself out of here? Surely not even his father – ex-father – would have thrown him out of the aether on the other side of the world. They wouldn't do that to him, surely.   
  
But the longer he walked, the less certain he was of anything. What was he going to do if he did get out of the forest? Find Xena. But what then? Convince her to help him find some way to restore his godhood? Ares had to stop for a while, staring stupidly at the mossy green trunks of the ancient trees around him, listening to the mindless twitter of birds overhead. This was it. This was all he had now; there was no getting his godhood back, no ambrosia, no nothing. He was mortal, and forever cut off from Olympus and the others... No, not forever. There was no forever. Only until he was dead.   
  
He started walking again, quickly, not looking around. There was no point thinking about it; he'd traded in his immortality and godhood and all the perks just to prevent one measly little death, the annoying blonde's – to give her back to Xena, because that was all he could do. Had it been worth it? Athena had thought him crazy, and maybe he was. But then... If he concentrated he could almost see Xena's face, and she wasn't looking at him like he'd betrayed her or disappointed her. She just looked kind of surprised, and she was looking at him. Ares' heart thumped painfully at his ribs and he bit his lip, and then he knew he was nuts, because the thought of Xena looking at him this way sent a tide of warmth through his chest – and it felt like joy.   
  
He was still lost in these thoughts when, after several hours of walking in what he'd thought was a straight line, he finally came upon something he recognised: the tree stump.   
  
Ares stared at it in dismay. He must have veered left slightly and come around in a circle, right back to where he began. To make his humiliation complete, his legs felt like lead weights, he was more thirsty than he'd ever felt in his life and his head had started to throb again. His stomach growled loudly, and he realised that the gnawing sensation that had been with him most of the afternoon was hunger.   
  
Ares considered his options. Water first, he had passed a small creek on the other side of the clearing. He could go back there, provided he could force his legs to move that far. Maybe there were fish – but even assuming for a moment that he managed to catch one, what were you supposed to do with them once you caught them? He'd watched mortals gut fish before, of course, but he'd never thought to pay attention to the details... And, come to think of it, how did mortals make fire? Ares looked down at his hands, completely devoid of any fire-making ability now. A fireball or two would have been handy.   
  
He felt a creeping dread starting somewhere in the base of his spine and spreading all the way up to his head: he was mortal and lost in a forest fates-knew where, for all he knew he wasn't even in Greece, with no sword, no food, no water, no shelter and no sense of direction. It was getting colder, too, with the sun beginning to set. His teeth were chattering. Great. Now he was starting to panic.   
  
"Xena!" he shouted, turning around, peering into the lengthening shadows. A flock of birds rose noisily into the rose-tinged sky. Ares felt the full ridiculousness of the situation, but some insane hope drove him to call out again. "Xena?"   
  
This was pathetic. He was pathetic. Ares could just hear Athena's voice in his head, "Calling for your girlfriend to save you?" – and Aphrodite's teasing laugh, "Aw, cheer up, bro, at least you're still here." Ares kicked the tree stump savagely a couple of times, trying to ignore the panicky feelings inside him. He was no good at this whole mortal thing; whatever had made him think he'd be able to do this? Why hadn't he just stayed in the Amazon camp, he could have had the chance at least to talk to Xena!   
  
Get a grip, he snapped at himself mentally. You're a god – were a god. So they threw you out, so what? Mere mortals do this all the time. He forced himself to turn, heading back to where he could just make out the murmur of the creek. He was going to make it. He lengthened his stride, swatting long branches out of his way, crunching twigs and dry grass underfoot, determined to ignore his aching legs and his headache. He could smell the water now, hear the frogs screaming chaotically. His foot squelched in mud, and there was the creek. The water sparkled in the fading light. Ares fell to his knees and drank, cupping his hands, splashing his face, drinking again until his thirst was scarcely a memory. How could cold water taste this good? Was it because he was mortal? He raised his head, water running into his eyes, down his chin. He didn't mind. He was going to make it. He was going to make it, and then he was going to find Xena and talk to her, and then... And then he would think of something.   
  
But there were no fish in the creek, and catching a rabbit proved much harder than it looked, and when evening fell it began to rain.   
  
By night-time, Ares was soaked through, and cold water had lost all its appeal.   
  
He managed at last to find shelter in the hollow of an old oak tree. He sat there now, watching random silver droplets hit the ground, turning the air to fog, making him drowsy. The inside of the tree was damp and dark and smelled like mushrooms, but it was surprisingly warm and seemed to make his numb hands and feet tingle.   
  
Ares shifted his legs, trying to get more comfortable. His exhausted thoughts were growing fuzzier around the edges, confusing. He wondered whether Livia was having second thoughts about the treaty, and then whether Xena was talking to her... They were probably having a huge celebration right now, drinking, Amazons dancing around their fires. It was annoying that he couldn't just open a portal and watch Xena watching them. She would be sitting away from all the merrymaking, somewhere past the crowd, her food and drink untouched. In the firelight, her skin would be gold and very warm, eyes focused just past the crowd. What would she be thinking? Probably something about Gabrielle, how glad she was to have her back – or Eve, how Eve had stopped the war... Would Xena think of him? Ares tossed his head, and the image faded, becoming the fog and then the rain again. He didn't want to know.   
  
After a while, he managed to forget his hunger; he supposed his stomach had given up in disgust and decided to stop bothering him. He tried half-heartedly to come up with some kind of plan for the next day, but he was too tired, and when he closed his eyes it seemed too much of an effort to open them again. He slept fitfully, waking up now and again sure that this was all a weird dream and he was just resting on Olympus. Once, near morning, he thought he heard Xena's voice, and saw her through the mist and rain. He called for her, but then he opened his eyes and knew it too had been a dream, and felt a crushing bleakness that woke him up completely.   
  
He watched the forest getting lighter from where he sat, barely noticing it when the rain ceased at last. A grey rumpled-looking bird near the tree was poking its beak into the hole where some hapless earthworm was trying to hide. Ares kicked at it from his hideout, feeling a kind of sullen kinship with the earthworm. "Eat something that fights back," he grumbled to the bird as it flew off.   
  
Then his hideout darkened. Ares saw a pair of muddy leather boots – legs – skirt – breastplate... He exhaled in a soft 'ahh', and found himself looking up at Xena's face.   
  
"I hope that's not breakfast," she said, nodding at the worm.   
  
"No," he heard himself saying, "that's bait – breakfast just flew off." He felt his face burning; he wanted to move, to stand up, but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off her. She was here. She was here.   
  
"Ah. You were going to eat a sparrow?"   
  
"Is that what it was?" Ares thought he'd actually managed a grin.   
  
"Yep."   
  
There was laughter in Xena's eyes, and the line between her brows relaxed, disappearing. She held out a hand to help him to his feet. Ares gripped it, forgetting his misery as completely as if he had never felt it, managing finally to stand up, facing her. How did she find him?   
  
"I asked Athena."   
  
"Oh."   
  
Xena's smile faded a little, and her face grew serious and almost afraid. Ares recognised that look from his own dreams: she knew what he'd done. She had come looking for him. His heart was beating so hard he could barely hear her quiet words.   
  
"Gabrielle told me about the ambrosia. Did Zeus ...?" She trailed off, as if not quite sure whether to ask the obvious, then said, "You're mortal."   
  
He shrugged.   
  
"I - uh..." Xena stumbled, then as if making a decision, looked straight at him. Her lips were pale, her brows jutting together slightly in concentration. "Ares... Thank you."   
  
And something in her face, her words, made Ares feel as though he was flying; his chest seemed to be expanding until he thought it would burst, and he didn't know whether that was because he was mortal or because he was terrified or because he was in love.   
  
All he could do was nod.   
  
"Xena!" came a shout from beyond the trees. Ares and Xena whipped around and saw Gabrielle; she came to a halt, clutching her side and breathing as though she had been running hard. Her eyes flitted back and forth between Xena and Ares.   
  
"Oh," she said weakly, "Sorry."   
  
"I don't believe this," Ares muttered. Xena shot him an unreadable look before going over to Gabrielle's side, worry in her eyes. "What's wrong?"   
  
"It's Eve," Gabrielle gasped, still short of breath. "You better come, now."   
  
"Of course – what happened? Is it the treaty?"   
  
"She's going to Rome."   
  
"She's going... what? You mean to give them the treaty?"   
  
"No!" Gabrielle said urgently, "I mean she's going back. To stay."   
  
Xena looked stricken. She glanced over at Ares, frowning. "Rome?"   
  
"Hey," he raised his hands, "I had nothing to do with this."   
  
For a moment, Xena continued looking at him; then her eyes softened and she murmured, "I know you didn't."   
  
Ares' heart leapt; he felt Xena's words settling inside him like a warm glow.   
  
"Come on, let's go!" said Gabrielle, and Xena turned.   
  
"Hang on," Ares stopped them, "I can take us all..." He fell silent, glancing at the empty spot on his hip where his sword used to be. His neck grew hot, then his face. "Damn."   
  
Xena ignored the awkward moment, grabbing hold of his vest to pull him along behind her. They followed Gabrielle back through the forest the way she had come. Panting, Ares stumbled into a run; Xena released him and he ran with her behind Gabrielle.   
  
A short time later the trees began to thin out, and then ended altogether. Gabrielle, Xena and Ares came out blinking into the bright sunshine, the huts and tents of the Amazon camp stretching before them. Of course, Ares thought; he had to have walked in the other direction the night before.   
  
Gabrielle motioned to the guards on duty and within moments they were engulfed in the frenetic activity of the camp.   
  
"There she is!" Gabrielle pointed, squinting against the sun. Xena nodded: there was a sea of moving armoured bodies just visible though the alley between two neat rows of huts; in the centre, on a long-legged white horse was Livia, in full general's regalia. The sun flared gold in her hair and lit up her armour.   
  
The three of them ran down the alley, coming out at the edge of the buzzing crowd. Before Ares could say anything, Xena was jostling through the Amazons and Romans in Livia's direction. He started after her, but Gabrielle's outstretched arm blocked his way.   
  
"Stay here," she said, still looking into the crowd where Xena had been. "She has to talk to her daughter – alone."   
  
"Hey," Ares protested, trying to get around Gabrielle's surprisingly solid block. "She's my daughter, too!"   
  
Gabrielle turned to look at him, as though studying him for the first time. "Do you really think you can help?"   
  
Ares considered it reluctantly: what would he say to Eve? And what would she say to him, after all that had happened? He winced. He looked away from Gabrielle, pretending to study the zigzag pattern on the wood of the nearest hut.   
  
"It'll be all right, you know," Gabrielle's soft voice came behind him.   
  
Ares huffed, staring at the wood. "What do you know about it?"   
  
He was surprised to hear an amused note in Gabrielle's voice. "More than you think."   
  
He had to turn around. Gabrielle was grinning a little smugly. Ares crossed his arms, glaring at her. "Well?"   
  
"I know why Eve is going back to Rome."   
  
"Aren't you clever. I don't suppose it has anything to do with ruling a great big empire."   
  
Gabrielle had the grace to look embarrassed. "Actually, it does. But it's not what you think."   
  
"Surprise me."   
  
But in that moment Gabrielle looked at something behind him, and Ares turned to see Xena walking out of the crowd towards them, looking bemused – but not angry.   
  
"How did it go?" Gabrielle asked quickly.   
  
Xena gave her a strange look. "Did you know?"   
  
Gabrielle winced and lowered her head. "Yeah. Xena, I'm sorry, I should've said something, but Eve wanted to be the one to tell you..."   
  
"Tell you what?" Ares demanded, looking between them in utter confusion. "What am I missing?"   
  
Xena shook her head incredulously, then her lips quirked in a half-smile. "It seems that Eve has decided to remain Livia."   
  
Ares continued staring at her. "And this is a good thing?"   
  
Xena glanced at Gabrielle. "Yes. At least ... for Rome. And the Amazons. Eve is going back to take her place on the throne with Augustus. She'll rule Rome the way it should have always been ruled. In peace."   
  
Ares noticed she wasn't smiling anymore.   
  
"Oh." He paused, digesting this. "That's not what you wanted?"   
  
Xena shrugged helplessly, not looking at him. "I wanted my daughter back." She looked up at Gabrielle and Ares saw that her eyes were overbright. "I hadn't thought this far..."   
  
Gabrielle looked like she wanted to kick herself. "I'm so sorry," she said again, "I didn't realise – I thought you'd be happy."   
  
"I am happy," Xena said, trying to sound it. "This is just... Selfish. Eve will be a good ruler, now. She has what it takes."   
  
Gabrielle looked like she wanted to say something, but Xena said, "We should go," and started back down the path between the wooden huts, not looking back. Gabrielle ran to catch up.   
  
Ares glanced over his shoulder before following them; Livia's guards had arranged themselves into their riding formation and the whole procession was moving towards the main gates. Livia turned in the saddle to scan the crowd, and Ares thought she saw Xena – but after a moment she squared her shoulders a bit, as though preparing to take on a great weight, and rode on.   
  


* * *

  
  
Xena stopped only when she reached a clearing large enough for a campsite. Gabrielle came up behind her, then Ares; Xena nodded in the direction of the spring she had noticed earlier to tell them to get water if they wanted it. She saw out of the corner of her eye that Gabrielle was carrying a small pack: she must have taken it from her hut on her way out of the camp. Gratitude welled in Xena's heart; it was so very good to know that she was there, to rely again on their friendship. She turned and gave Gabrielle a small smile, and felt Gabrielle squeeze her shoulder quickly as she walked past, carrying the empty waterbags to the spring.   
  
Xena sat down heavily on a fallen log, her knees giving way. The welts on her back still hurt; she tried to focus on them instead of Eve's face, the image of it in the late morning sunshine.   
  
"So," Ares said, settling down beside her after Gabrielle disappeared from view. "Our little girl is all grown up. How does it feel to have single-handedly conquered Rome?"   
  
Xena flinched. Of all the things she didn't want to hear right now... "I conquered nothing," she said curtly.   
  
"You helped Eve get there. And you know," he looked at her askance, "I think you're right. She'll do a damn good job."   
  
"Will she?" Xena looked around at the trees, the leaves that whispered exactly as they had done twenty-five years ago. "Who is our daughter, Ares? I knew my child, and a Roman general... Eve is neither of those things."   
  
"Maybe she's both."   
  
Xena glanced at him, startled. She hadn't expected him to understand. With a kind of resignation she waited for the inevitable punchline, the wisecrack that would spoil the moment, but didn't come. Ares was merely looking at her, frowning a little. It formed lines over his brows – and damned if she knew why she wanted to touch him there. She caught the convulsive gesture of her own fingers, bid them to lie still, cupped loosely over her bare knees.   
  
Her own hands. Xena tried to recognise them, but all she could see was her fist closed on the chakram held to Eve's throat. She had done that.   
  
She said, "I could have killed her... when she killed Gabrielle. You knew that. You wanted that war, or you didn't have the guts to stop it: doesn't matter. I thought it was over. And then you – you go and do this. Give her back to me, give me another chance, let me call her Eve. What am I supposed to do now?"   
  
Ares didn't reply. His silence unnerved Xena more than anything he could have said; she wanted suddenly to strike him, to reach for her sword and fight him as though he was still a god and invincible to her blows. She didn't want to forgive him. Not after he did this one good thing – this one, immense, unbelievable thing, this sacrifice... How was she supposed to deal with that?   
  
"Why did you do it?" she asked. Her voice sounded hard and unnaturally quiet.   
  
Ares shrugged, staring at the ground. Then he raised his eyes, and all Xena could see was his fear. "If I told you I was sorry – about Eve, and Gabrielle... Would you believe me?"   
  
"Would you say it?"   
  
"Probably not." There was a brief pause. Then Ares gave her a too-bright grin. "Well, you know I've always had a thing for you, so..."   
  
"We need firewood," Xena said abruptly. She got to her feet. She should never have asked why he did it; she didn't want to hear it.   
  
"Huh?"   
  
"Firewood. We better find some if you want to eat."   
  
The tension between them broke, and Ares heard his stomach rumble loudly. Embarrassing as it was, he felt deeply relieved. He didn't want to be having this conversation with Xena, not right now. He was hungry and stupid with the barrage of mortal feelings he couldn't even name, and who knew what kind of rubbish he'd be saying next.   
  
"I'll get the wood," he offered.   
  
Xena looked surprised for a moment, then nodded at him. "Fine. Just make sure it's dry; it's been raining all night." She paused, then added as an afterthought: "The fire won't start otherwise."   
  
Ares shot her an amused look. "I've been tossing fireballs for centuries, trust me: I know what burns."   
  
And with that he strode off into the woods, leaving Xena to stare after him. She'd forgotten – how could she ever forget? – the way he could throw her off-kilter with one line, one look. What was he saying, that he could make it as a mortal without her help, that the former God of War who had torched villages by her side needed no help starting a campfire? What a pleasant thought. She was glad he didn't need her; it wasn't like she was planning to spend her life babysitting him.   
  
Except that he might die. He was mortal, he could die and then she'd have to live with the knowledge that she hadn't helped him. Just like last night. Gabrielle had explained about the ambrosia, how Ares had brought her back to life in the same way that years ago Gabrielle had done for her... And though Xena told herself that it had been Ares' choice, that after all the grief he'd caused it was the least he could do, still she had run out into the rain like a fool, calling out for Athena, demanding to know Ares' punishment. Asking Athena where to find him. Running into the forest afterwards, searching, calling out, furious with him for getting lost, for making her chase him. Her heart beating like crazy. Like she would miss him, like he wasn't a god – but he wasn't a god, not anymore. He'd given all that up. For her.   
  
"I won't ask why you're giving our supplies the death stare."   
  
Xena started, looking up guiltily. Gabrielle emerged into the clearing, carrying the full waterbags. She put them down, then added: "But since you're clearly not in the mood for jerky and hard cheese – I got this." She tossed a large cleaned and gutted fish onto the grass and grinned at Xena's expression.   
  
"Oh, Gabrielle – you didn't have to, I would've caught a rabbit..."   
  
Gabrielle waved her protests aside. "It was no trouble; this one was practically jumping out of the water. Besides," she bit her lip, "You could use a break after – what happened with Eve."   
  
"It was the best thing that could have happened."   
  
"Yes," Gabrielle said evenly, but her eyes shone with understanding, shared grief. She sat beside Xena on the log, clasping her hands in her lap. "That doesn't make it any easier, though, does it?"   
  
"No," Xena admitted. Then she sighed, "I should have seen it. She was brought up in Rome with all their values, their life. Remember Dyrrachium? The people she's hurt are in Rome's provinces. That's her duty now, to undo some of the damage she did. I can't argue with that. She is my daughter, but... she has her own path." Xena looked helplessly at Gabrielle. "I can't keep her from it."   
  
"What about Augustus? She said she will marry him... Does she love him?"   
  
"Maybe she does. But love and politics, Gabrielle – they don't mix. If it comes to letting her heart stand in the way of doing good for the people..." Xena fell silent, and Gabrielle nodded gently.   
  
"You think she's like you. The greater good before her own happiness?"   
  
Xena smiled unhappily. "I was lucky. I never had to make that choice." She looked up at Gabrielle, her smile growing warmer. "I had you."   
  
"You're not going all sentimental on me, are you?" Gabrielle gave her a mock punch on the arm, her eyes sparkling with laughter. "Careful, you'll be writing poetry next."   
  
Xena pulled a disgusted face, setting both of them to laughing, Gabrielle's cheeks turning pink so that she looked almost like the little girl from the village of Potadeia – save for her eyes. They seemed darker now and held knowledge, like the sea or the deep forest.   
  
"I'm sorry," Xena said, sobering. "I should have never let you go to the Amazons that way, all alone... I don't know what I was thinking."   
  
To her surprise, Gabrielle's grin only widened. "Maybe that I was a grown woman who can make her own decisions? I've got news for you, Xena: people do things. Good things, bad things, so-so things. Clever, stupid, heroic, selfish. They're not always your fault, you know. You're my best friend and I love you dearly, but do me a favour: stop trying to take the credit for everything. All right?"   
  
Xena blinked, taken aback. "But the Amazons – the council – it must have been Tartarus!"   
  
Gabrielle looked at her seriously. "It was hard, yes. But it had to happen that way, don't you see? I wanted to go. I thought – I had these dreams. Kids' stuff. It was kind of glamorous, to think of myself as the Queen of the Amazons. Then I found out first hand what it means, what it really means to be Queen. And you know what I discovered?"   
  
"What?" Xena frowned.   
  
"That I don't want it. I don't want to be the one who makes those choices: the lives of a few sacrificed to save thousands of others, the welfare of my tribe before any other. I know how to fight, and now I know that I can lead, too. But the life I was meant for isn't there. It's here, with you."   
  
Xena looked into Gabrielle's face, the soft sunlight on her cheeks, the hair that was still braided Amazon-style... She was so different – harder, smarter, older – but for the first time, Xena forced herself to look past those things, pushed aside her own guilt over this change and saw the woman beside her as simply herself. Gabrielle. Not the Bard of Potadeia or the Queen of the Amazons, just Gabrielle, her friend. The one who had chosen to walk beside her through everything. Who knew that power didn't bring happiness. The one who took responsibility for her own choices, and who was now looking at her friend and asking that she accept her. She was no little girl; hadn't been one for a very long time. And that was okay. She was Gabrielle.   
  
"You okay?" Gabrielle said softly.   
  
"Yeah," Xena said. She hesitated, then pulled Gabrielle into a brief, awkward hug. "Just... try not to die on me again, would you?"   
  
"I'll do my best," Gabrielle agreed, trying to free her own arms to return Xena's embrace. "Hey... You're suffocating me here!"   
  
"Ohh, sorry." Xena released her, looking sheepish – then her expression changed.   
  
"What is it?" Gabrielle followed Xena's stare to the other side of the clearing. Ares was walking towards them, carrying an enormous pile of dry branches and twigs. He dumped the lot on the ground, brushing his hands together.   
  
"That should do," he said, satisfied.   
  
Gabrielle tried hard not to laugh. "Ares – that's enough for ten fires."   
  
He shrugged, unperturbed. "Had to keep myself busy while you were having your happy reunion, didn't I?"   
  
He stretched and settled down in the grass while Xena got out the flint from Gabrielle's pack to start the fire. Gabrielle noticed Ares watching curiously as Xena coaxed the first small flames from the silvery dry wood. Gabrielle started slicing the fish for their stew, glancing up every now and again to find Ares still watching Xena work, putting the water on to boil, adding more firewood. It was almost like the days when Xena had been pregnant with Eve: Ares' silent presence at their campsite, Xena pretending that she neither noticed nor cared. Only this time, it was all different. It struck Gabrielle that Ares had given up his godhood for this. That they could sit together beside a leaping fire and cook their lunch, and watch the afternoon wither away into evening, – this peace of theirs had been bought with the Godhood of War. Was there an irony in that?   
  
"It's done," Xena said, wincing as she held the spoonful of hot stew to her mouth.   
  
They ate slowly, not talking, the remains of the fire crackling and popping in its circle of rocks. Once or twice, Gabrielle tried to strike up a conversation, but neither Xena nor Ares responded, and after a while she gave up. It wasn't a comfortable meal. Gabrielle wondered whether Xena had told Ares of their plans to visit Amphipolis and Potadeia; whether she had asked him to come along. It all seemed very peculiar, travelling with the God of War, twenty-five years since the day they left Greece for Ch'in. She thought of her little sister, Lila, and how old she would be now. Her parents. Her stomach squeezed into a knot. She wasn't at all sure that she wanted to see Potadeia anymore.   
  
"So where to now?" Ares asked, when their bowls were empty, and it they could no longer pretend to be engrossed in their food.   
  
"Amphipolis," Xena replied, carefully avoiding looking at him. She gave Gabrielle a questioning look, "Unless you want to go to Potadeia –"   
  
Gabrielle shook her head hastily. "Amphipolis first. The girl in that tavern said that Cyrene, uh..."   
  
"Died ten years ago," Xena completed dully. "I'd like to see her tomb."   
  
Gabrielle half-expected Ares to make some comment about it, but he said nothing, merely nodded.   
  
"Are you coming with us?" Xena said abruptly, looking at Ares at last.   
  
Ares flinched, raising his eyes to meet Xena's. For a long moment they stared at each other; Gabrielle could not tell what passed between them, but eventually Ares shook his head. "I don't think so, Xena; thanks all the same."   
  
"Where are you going to go?" Xena had not looked away, but Gabrielle saw her hands had grown white on the spoon she was still holding.   
  
"Oh, you know," Ares said, sounding almost nonchalant. "Wander the earth, see the sights. I might head to Egypt: those pyramids look pretty stupid from Olympus, but who knows, there might be something to them, up close."   
  
"Come with us as far as Amphipolis, then," Gabrielle offered. Xena shot her a frantic look, but Gabrielle chose to ignore it. "It's on your way, anyway."   
  
Ares eyed Xena a moment. "All right."   
  
Xena nodded curtly, then began to clear away the bowls and spoons, shoving everything into the empty pot. "I'll go wash up," she said, rising.   
  
"I'll help." Ares stood up as well, and followed Xena towards the creek.   
  
Gabrielle watched them go, Xena's back very straight, Ares half a pace behind her. He caught up as Xena half-turned to say something, frowning – but Gabrielle saw the ghost of laughter in the curve of Xena's mouth. She couldn't hear Ares' response, but she saw Xena's raised eyebrows, amused despite herself, and noticed that she walked a little closer to Ares, the pot clanking against her leg.   
  
They took a very long time washing the dishes.   
  
  
  
  
  


Epilogue

  
  
  
  
_...Thus ends the story of the Empress Livia, who was once Eve of Thrace, and the man Ares, who was once a god, and the great Xena who remains a warrior in our day. And I, Gabrielle of Potadeia, at last put my name on this scroll and seal it with a single thought, which is also the thought of our great philosophers: that darkness we fear in our own hearts is but the absence of light. For if you light a single candle, does it not banish the night? Yet the darkest of nights cannot extinguish its flame. It is within all of us to find our light – but though others may lead us to it, they cannot kindle it. That we must do for ourselves._  
  
Virgil rolled up the scroll and looked up at his audience. There was the squeak of a stool, the buzz of a fly overhead – and then the small wooden theatre erupted in noise. The applause was deafening; cheers and whistles from the back rows could barely rise above the roar. Someone stood up spontaneously, followed at once by a dozen others and more, until the entire audience was on its feet. The cheering went on and on. Virgil beamed, bowing to each side of the amphitheatre, his face flushed with joy.   
  
"I don't see what you two are so thrilled about," Ares said, stretching his legs down onto the seat in front of him the moment its occupant stood to cheer. He discovered at once why no one else was doing this: the heavy toga he'd been forced to wear attempted to slide right off him. He caught it just in time, tugging it over his left shoulder, and looked up at Gabrielle. "The guy's getting the credit for all your lousy writing."   
  
Xena grabbed a fistful of his toga, pulling him to his feet. "Shut up and start cheering, you bastard." She smiled wickedly. "Unless you want to be introduced to these people as your character?"   
  
"Ohh, blackmail!" Ares reached out suddenly and caught Xena's hand. They looked at each other for a moment, then he raised her hand and ran the tip of his tongue along her finger slowly, making her catch her breath. He pulled her closer. "I love it when you play dirty."   
  
Gabrielle groaned. "Let's go, before you get us banned from every decent theatre in Rome!"   
  
"And what a tragedy that would be," Ares said sombrely.   
  
Xena merely gave him a light push to follow Gabrielle as she made her way out, squeezing through the milling crowd out of the amphitheatre.   
  
The three of them emerged out onto the sunlit square in front of the temporary theatre, where there were rows of makeshift market stalls selling everything from shady hats to sweetmeats for the theatre patrons. One entire stall was devoted to painted wax figurines of Xena, Gabrielle, Ares, baby Eve, and even Varia – or so the names on their little pedestals proclaimed. None of them bore the slightest resemblance to the original models, but that hardly mattered: they were selling out fast. The only one missing was the Empress Livia herself, out of deference.   
  
"Wow." Gabrielle breathed, looking around. Every available wall was covered with brightly coloured posters: "THE OUTSIDERS: A Tale By Gabrielle, the new Bard of Potadeia!!! Discover the history of the Amazon treaty! PREMIERE TODAY! Hurry!!!" – and below in small print: "Translated from the Greek by Publius Vergilius Maro."   
  
Xena smiled warmly at Gabrielle. "Congratulations. They loved it. Even I loved it."   
  
Gabrielle flushed a little. "Virgil did a good job with the translation. See?" She gave Ares a pointed look. "He did not hog the credit. It's my name on those posters."   
  
"You're the 'new' bard of Potadeia?" Ares raised his brows at Xena. "What've you done with the old Gabrielle?"   
  
"Very funny." Gabrielle made a face at both of them. "You try explaining why you look twenty-five years too young to be yourself, to every passing stranger. I wanted a new life." She flicked a coin at the boy behind the nearby stall, and took two pastries. She handed one to Xena, and took a big bite out of hers.   
  
"Mmm..." She took another bite. "And I like this new life."   
  
"It's good," Xena agreed, over layers of filo and cream.   
  
Ares gave the women a hurt look. "Are you just going to let me starve?"   
  
"Yep." Gabrielle breezily popped the last bit of pastry in her mouth, and went ahead to look at the hairpins in the next stall.   
  
Xena laughed at Ares' expression, breaking off half of her own pastry. She held it up to let him take a bite. "Don't worry." She brushed his lips lightly with her fingertips. "I'll take care of you."   
  
Ares laced his fingers through hers, squeezing her hand. "So far, you've forced me to go to the theatre and wear a toga. I shudder to imagine what else you have planned."   
  
Xena gave a low chuckle. "Oh, I have plans for you all right."   
  
Ares turned her towards him a little. Xena's eyes met his, her lips parting slightly. Very slowly, Ares leaned closer to let his mouth meet hers, and nipped at her bottom lip. "Want to tell me about them?"   
  
"I'd love to." Xena grinned. "But not here."   
  


The End


End file.
